


Underdogs Wednesdays

by Becks_Rylynn



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Supernatural
Genre: Badass Laurel & Dean, Birds of Prey, Black Canary - Freeform, F/M, Ficlet, Headcanon, Inspired by Poetry, Laurel Lance Deserves None of Your Hate, Literal Superhero Dean Winchester, Meta, Notfic, OTP: The Underdogs, Occasional fandom negativity due to discussions of, Sorry Not Sorry, how some factions of spn and arrow fandoms, treat these two characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becks_Rylynn/pseuds/Becks_Rylynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of heacanons, ficlets, essay type things, and anything else that floats my boat regarding the pairing of Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance, a new favourite pairing of mine. New material will be posted every other Wednesday night after Arrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Underdogs Wednesday #1: Meta ft. Richard Siken's poetry

**Author's Note:**

> I started shipping Dean/Laurel when I realized how remarkably similair their characters are, what with the guilt and the substance abuse and the hearts of gold. The fact that they're played by Jensen Ackles and Katie Cassidy helps (Dean/Ruby 1.0 is one of my SPN OTPs) so it was probably bound to happen anyway. I started a few fics for them and then, a couple weeks ago, I started this collection. 
> 
> I started Underdogs Wednesday (''underdogs'' being my ship name for Laurel/Dean) in order to cancel out the gross level of hate Laurel gets and the disappointing level of hate Dean gets in their respective fandoms and it turned into something that actually makes Wednesday nights fun again.
> 
> Here you will find mini-fics, not!fics, headcanons, poetry mixes, fanmixes, meta, and anything else that has to do with Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance getting All the Nice Things. ...Since their shows refuse to give them any sort of happiness or plotlines ever.

**/i/**

.

.

.

I would life to preface this with an apology: I once said that Dean/Laurel was the only couple where all I wanted was fluff and no angst? Apparently I lied. I need the angst. No one is surprised.

.

.

.

 

_Hello darling, sorry about that._   
_Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry we_   
_lived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell_   
_and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud._   
_Especially that, but I should have known._   
_You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together_   
_to make a creature that will do what I say_   
_or love me back._   
_I'm not really sure why I do it_

  
**\- Richard Siken | Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out**

.

.

.

*gutteral sobbing/embarrasing mewling noises*

Oh my god, this dude. THIS DUDE.

So, how does it relate to The Underdogs? I mean, how does it not, really? This piece of poetry is _painfully_ Dean/Laurel. Not just this excerpt, but the entire piece, to be honest. ''Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out'' reads like a twisted fairytale, with fire breathing dragons, a princess and an unreliable narrator. This line: _I can tell already you think I'm the dragon,_ _that would be so like me, but I'm not. I'm not the dragon._ It's Dean/Laurel because for such a long time people have been trying to make them into something weak, something broken, someone to bash, the bad guys, simply because they hurt. It's a denial. A careless, ''I'm fine.'' It's Dean answering, ''Who cares?'' to the question, ''How are you?'' It's Laurel saying, ''In case I wasn't clear last week, I'm done answering that question'' to a fairly worried inquiry of, ''Are you okay?''  _I'm not the dragon,_ the poem says, but what it really means is, _I am not_ _wrong for feeling the way I feel._

And then there's this line: _Okay, so I'm the dragon. Big deal._ Is that not the moment Laurel decided that it was her fault Tommy died? (Even though Tommy was a grown ass man who made his own damn choices and to take that away from him and make Laurel out to be the bad guy is not only a disgusting way to treat Laurel, but Tommy's memory.) Is that not the moment Dean decided he was worthless? (This moment happened earlier for Dean. It happened when he was nine and his father used him as bait against a monster and he couldn't pull the trigger, you know, because was was nine.) They are the bad guys, in their minds. Everything is their fault. It's all on them. They have had this cruel lie beaten into them by their twisted, fucked up lives.

They fight dragons, both with the law and outside of the law, and yet the only real dragon they see, the only real evil, is the one they see when they look in the mirror.

But the above excerpt specifically just reminds me of how badly they need someone. I think that's something that's pretty evident in both of their characters. They're both very nuturing people, very good people, and quite frankly, it's a miracle they turned out that way given the fact that neither of them have ever really been treated right. They don't just _want_ someone. They _need_ someone. They don't just want someone to commiserate with, or share their life with, or, you know, get drunk with. They need someone to tell them that they deserve to be here. They need someone to tell them that they're not guilty. They need someone to love and to love them.

It reminds me of how much they feel only to made into villains, into whiners, into jokes, into ''overdramatic sadsacks,'' into guilt ridden people who are sick and in pain, just because they dared to publicly exhibit _brokenness_.*

 _You want a better story,_ says Siken. _Who wouldn't?_

There are gross people out there who think that the only thing Laurel deserves is to ''take all those pills and die'' because she is a ''whiny bitchy damsel.'' There are gross people out there who think that they only thing Dean deserves is to ''be punched in the dick'' because he is ''a controlling asshole.'' (No, I'm not kidding. Those are legitimate complaints I have read about their characters.)

Do you know what I think Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance deserve? Happiness. Hugs. Kisses. Sex. One fucking good day. Comfort. Each other, maybe. Therapy. Rehab. Do you know what I think Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance _really_ deserve, more than anything else? **Help.**

Just something to think about.

*Honestly, yeah, I think part of the reason why Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance get so much hate in their respective fandoms is because of how grossly unsympathetic people still are towards mental illness. And that's not a fandom issue, or something that can be solved on the internet. That's just... It's a world issue. It's a people issue.


	2. Underdogs Wednesdays #2: Headcanon Ficcery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, for this second UW, I was going to do this overwhelmingly fluffy headcanon about how great their relationship would be and how they'd be that one obnoxious couple you know who never stop touching and they'd always be cuddling because they're both obviously just the cuddliest motherfuckers and how they'd both be super protective of each other, but...
> 
> Instead I plucked a scenario from this tumblr ( http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/ ) and did a headcanon not!fic type thing for it because the prompt made me feel powerful. By the way, the term not!fic for me basically means a short oneshot fic that's written in a format or a style that if you wrote a long story in that particular style, people would judge you and think that something is wrong with you. So... 
> 
> Beware of the Not!Fic. 
> 
> Warnings/Info: Established relationship, future fic, not really graphic depictions of injury, blood, possibly some spoilers for Arrow.

**/ii/**

.

.

.

_Imagine person A of your OTP taking care of person B while person B is sick or injured._

.

.

.

.

Laurel's on the couch tonight.

Maybe it's because she has a DVR full of quality television and some trashy reality shows - don't judge her, you watch shitty shows too, everyone does; don't lie, you're a secret Keeping Up with the Kardasians fan, aren't you? - that she never has time to watch. Maybe it's because she was too tired to even drag herself to bed after a hellish day at work. Maybe it's just because it's pouring rain tonight and she likes the sound of the rain. Or maybe it's because their bed - the one that Dean so painstakingly picked out with an almost disturbing amount of intensity, mumbling under his breath, over and over, _this is just like Sophie's Choice_ , to which her response was, _I really don't think it is, sweetie, but_ _you're cute_ \- feels cold, empty and lonely without him.

We'll just never know.

Whatever the reason, when Dean is away on a hunt, she often ''accidentally'' falls asleep on the couch. She's not waiting. She's just...being prepared. And it's not like he doesn't pace by the window every night Black Canary goes out on patrol with Oli - sorry, The Arrow, and he can't come. (Spoiler alert: The Arrow is Oliver. Did everyone know The Arrow was Ollie? She almost bashed his head right in when she unmasked him, the lying prick.)

She's on the couch, paying very little attention to the episode of Scandal playing, half asleep, wearing one of Dean's plaid flannel shirts over her tank top and shorts, and then there's a sickening sort of thud from just outside the front door and she springs up, on her feet and racing over to throw open the door, suddenly wide awake. Naturally, considering this is her life, it's Dean. Of course. Lying in a heap, all clawed to hell from some beast or another, probably concussed and soaking wet from the rain. He's got his keys out, like he was trying to get inside when he passed out, and his breathing is disturbingly, terrifyingly ragged. He's not even breathing, really. He's wheezing. He does wake up while she's dragging his dead weight into the apartment, just long enough to slur out something along the lines of, _no hospitals, please, Laurel, please, no hospitals_. Because this is the stubborn asshole she's going to spend the rest of her life with. Oh, man.

Hey, at least he's not some rich dude who runs around in green leather pants and face paint shooting bad guys full of arrows, though, right? So. Step up.

And she's panicking. No duh, she's panicking. Because her significant other is bleeding out and mumbling incoherently on the floor. Also, it's not like this is a normal occurrence. They've been together for awhile now and she can honestly say that nope, he's never come home half dead before! And she is a human being, so yes. There is panicking. Plus, she admits that she's a crier - shut up, there's nothing wrong with being emotional - so there's crying panicking. And hell yeah, she thinks he's a goddamn moron because what the fuck, dude's bleeding all over her carpet and he knows that thing was expensive and it ties the room together, okay?

But she is still Laurel fucking Lance. So she gets shit done. She smacks him awake, heaves him into the bathroom, and dries him off. He's half conscious, whispering apologies and curling one arm around his abdomen. _It's not even that bad, Laur,_ he's trying to tell her, _don't cry, please don't cry._ She snorts, rolls her eyes, and says, _like I would cry for_ _you_ , cutting away his clothes with precision. She stitches him up carefully, slowly, pretending she doesn't fumble with the extensive first aid kit he put under the sink, and she does it all while he's incoherent and keeps nodding off. He is all clawed up and bloodstained, shaking from blood loss, feverish and sweaty, and his fingers are digging into her hips painfully, forehead pressed against her shoulder. But her hands only shake a little while she does it, and she doesn't cry, even though she feels like she might.

This is not the first time she has stitched someone's wounds up in a non-hospital setting without pain medication. After a nasty showdown with Sebastian Blood, she sat in Team Arrow's disconcerting little lair and stitched her way up Oliver's right side while Felicity was panicking over the comms about Diggle maybe needing surgery for internal bleeding and Dean was fitting Roy Harper with a sling, muttering about how _this is literally the most ridiculous thing I have ever been a part of and one time, there was a giant teddy bear - hey, honey, have I told you about the giant teddy bear yet? That's a - well, it's not a good story, but it's a story._

( _Eyes on me, Captain America,_ Roy had sneered out through teeth gritted in pain. _You're supposed to be fixing my arm, not flirting._ And Dean had poked a bruise on the kid's ribs and tossed him a shit eating grin after Roy had shrieked loudly.)

The difference is that this is Dean.

Despite the green leather, she has never thought of Oliver as indestructible. She knows too much to ever believe that. Dean, on the other hand, has always seemed more intact to her. More capable, to be honest. Which sounds horrible and she recognizes that. She doesn't think he's more competent than Ollie, not exactly. Just more experienced. It's why she helps Oliver fight crime and agrees to stay away from hunting. Maybe the biggest difference is that Dean has never let her down. He has never left her like the rest of them have, and for a long time, she has foolishly allowed herself to believe that he never will.

The blood spilled on her bathroom floor, red against white, reminds her that one day he could.

She is actually very skilled with doing stitches. Diggle told her that once. She has quick and nimble fingers. She does them so well, so finely, that it barely even scars. _Would've_ _been a great medic,_ he said. She never told anyone that she had seriously thought about med school once, had even thought about what schools she was going to apply to, only to realize when her father came home with a bullet wound in his shoulder, that she can only deal with blood to a point. She holds it together quite nicely while she's fixing Dean up, doing her best to think of only the task at hand and not how fast and loud her heartbeat is in her ears, or his pained intake of breath when she threads the needle through his skin.

It is only afterwards, while he is resting in bed, bruised and bloodstained but alive, curled under the covers in his boxers, still shaking and feverish, but healing, that she allows herself to break. She locks herself in the bathroom and cleans up the blood on the floors and the sink and smeared on the wall, before scrubbing at the blood on her hands until her skin is raw. She doesn't have a panic attack. She doesn't cry. She doesn't throw up or shake uncontrollably. She just sits on the edge of the bathtub and thinks about how _this_ _is not what she signed up for._ Having his blood on her hands, feeling that amount of terror, loving him that deeply that his blood traumatizes her. She didn't plan for any of this. She didn't plan for him. She never planned for him.

It's a weak moment. One where she wonders if this is even worth it. Because - _fuck._ This is hard. This is really hard. And it's always going to be like this. That's the part that gets her. It will always be like this, with the blood and the fear and the pain. They're never going to have an easy relationship. One of their lives will always be in danger. Every week is something new with them. Is this what she really wants?

She shelves the thought for the night, pulls herself together, and sits by his side all night long, carding her fingers through his hair and checking to make sure he hasn't left her yet.

The next morning, when he wakes up, groggy and hurting but in strangely good spirits, he tells her about the five year old boy that he saved from a wendigo with an odd sort of light in his eyes, not happy but proud, hands flailing dramatically as he tells the story, she'll realize that yes, it will be hard, harder than any of her other relationships, but so, so incredibly worth it. And she'll tell him that, too. That it's worth it. No matter what.

Six months later, she'll be strung up in a dirty warehouse in The Glades and this week's bad guy will decide that bloodletting is an appropriate form of torture for _Starling City's_ _Black Canary, gotta make sure you can't fly away, don't I?_ There will be several cuts and a growing pool of blood on the floor before The Arrow (he's trying to get Green Arrow to catch on, but the newscasters are stubborn and he's hesitant about letting Felicity send a letter to the news station asking them to call him Green Arrow) literally swoops down in his green leather and brand new mask, flinging enough arrows to divert their attention, allowing Dean and Sam to rush over and cut her down. And not long after, when Dean is bursting into the emergency room of Starling City General with her limp body in his arms and her blood on his hands, he'll have to remember what she said to him that morning, when she kissed him on the side of the mouth before re-dressing the wound on his right shoulder.

_Nothing about our relationship will ever be easy, but I think it's worth it. I think we're worth it. Don't you?_

**end not!fic**


	3. Underdogs Wednesdays #3: Jayverse #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am super excited for tonight's Underdogs Wednesday because tonight is the debut of the Jayverse! (That makes the Jayverse sound way cooler than it actually is, btw.) What is the Jayverse, you ask?
> 
> Well, the Jayverse is an alternate universe in which Dean/Laurel are married and have a son named Jay (short for Josh). Ficlets for this 'verse will be popping up frequently for Underdogs Wednesdays. It will include Dean being inserted into Arrow season one and Laurel being inserted into SPN season eight (technically, because of the time jumps, Arrow season one would be taking place at the same time as SPN season seven, but I'm fudging the timeline a bit with this - including how long Dean was in Purgatory for) and it will also feature flashbacks of Dean and Laurel's life together before present day, including the pregnancy and birth of their son.
> 
> I feel kind of bad because this first ficlet doesn't even have Dean in it, but this is the one that just came out. I think it's a good introductory ficlet. I promise, the next Jayverse will have Dean in it. Also, just a bit of additional information: this mini fic takes place during 1x02 of Arrow and some of the dialogue between Oliver and Laurel is taken directly from that episode.

_unless someone like you_   
_cares a whole awful lot,_   
_nothing is going to get better._   
_it's not._   
**\- dr. seuss | the lorax**

.

.

.

Laurel stifles a yawn as she bends down to pick up a toy fire truck from the ground, tucking it under her arm along with a stuffed bear and a puzzle box. Her apartment is a disaster zone. There are toys strewn about, crayons littered on the floor, the table is covered in children's books and coloring books, and there is a stain on the couch cushion from spilled grape juice. The kitchen isn't any better; breakfast dishes still in the sink, half a bowl of cold chicken noodle soup on the counter along with the remains of her hastily scarfed down lean cuisine dinner, and there are wads of purple stained paper towels from the aforementioned grape juice spill. The worst part is her bedroom. There are two overflowing hampers of two weeks' worth of dirty clothes, a laundry basket of clean sheets waiting to be folded, heaps of unopened mail on her desk, shoes all over the place, various cold medicines on her bedside table, and handfuls of toys in random places because Jay has been sleeping in her bed with her ever since he got sick.

But Jay is finally asleep, the apartment is finally quiet, and it may be a small victory, but it's enough for now. The mess comes with the territory, but the silence is a gift.

She makes quick work of the living room, depositing the toys into the toy chest by the window and sorting the books into a pile on the coffee table. She opts to flip the couch cushion over instead of wasting half an hour of her life fruitlessly scrubbing at a stain that won't come out. She moves into the kitchen, sighing heavily at the mess that awaits her. The time on the microwave says it's 9:18. God, it's not even nine thirty and she feels dead on her feet. Not that that's anything new or surprising, really. She gets to work clearing the counters and scrubbing them down and allows her mind to wander as she completes the tawdry task. A messy home is par for the course with a toddler in the house, and her neatness pretty much went out the window when Jay was born, but today was worse than usual. It usually is when Jay is sick.

This one time, when Jay was about a year old, he got a nasty ear infection and when she couldn't afford to take a day off, his dad offered to stay home for the day. And when Laurel got home, exhausted after a brutal day, she walked into an apartment that looked like a tornado had hit it. Her husband was in the living room, The Wiggles muted on the television, in his sweats, bouncing a screaming baby and desperately trying to convince the boy that everything was going to be okay. Despite the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he looked like he was about thirty seconds away from bursting into tears just out of pure frustration, as soon as he saw her, he pointed a finger at her and said, ''Laurel, don't you dare try to clean up.'' She had protested, taking Jay out of his arms, but he was resolute, telling her, ''You should relax. Have a glass of wine, take a bath, finish that book you've been babbling about - ''

''I have not been... I don't _babble_.''

''Just don't worry about the mess, sweetheart. I've got it under control.''

And then he all but locked her in the bathroom. When she came out, after reluctantly relaxing into a bubble bath, the living room was spotless, he was sitting on the couch with Jay fast asleep on his chest, and her favourite Thai food had been ordered.

That was just...what he did. It was who he was. He was always doing things like that; taking someone else's burden even if his shoulders were buckling under the weight of his own. He loved to dote on his family. And he was damn good at it, too.

Laurel swallows hard and looks down at her wedding ring. She supposes those days are over.

Just as she is dunking the dirty dishes into a sink full of soapy water, there is a knock on the door. She curses under her breath, grabbing a dish towel to dry her hands and hurrying towards the front door. She hesitates before she answers it, looking down at her ripped jeans and the old stained Pink Floyd t-shirt of his that she had claimed while she was pregnant. She's sure her hair must look like a rat's nest from Jay's little fingers grabbing and twirling it like he always does when he wants cuddles. But she figures it's probably her dad or Tommy coming to check on her and they've both seen her way worse, so she sucks it up and opens the door.

Yep.

Should've checked the peephole.

It is not Tommy and it is most certainly _not_ her father.

''Oliver.''

There's a flash of annoyance at the sight of him, because didn't he just tell her to stay away from him? This is quickly followed by mild embarrassment due to her current state of dress and then an overwhelming burst of panic that sends her heart racing. ''What... What are you doing here?''

''I...'' Oliver pauses, frowning as if he hadn't thought of what to say if she asked that question. Seems like awfully poor planning on his part.

''Ollie,'' she prompts, and tries not to let her exhaustion show.

It doesn't work, apparently, because all of a sudden his anxiety shifts into concern and he inches closer to her. ''Are you okay?''

He sounds so... _genuine._ Definitely different from five years ago. She resists the urge to sigh. Honestly, she is not completely sure what to do with this new Oliver. ''I'm tired,'' she snaps, perhaps a little harsher than intended. There's a rustling noise from down the hall, in the direction of her bedroom where Jay is sleeping. Her heart thuds in her chest and she slides her eyes to the side, gripping the door. Crap. Crap, crap, crap. ''What do you want?'' She asks, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Oliver takes in a breath. ''My sister took - well, she - ''

Laurel raises her eyebrows.

''She pointed out to me that I have been distant since I got back,'' he says. ''And that...'' He stops again, mouth open, a faraway look in his eyes. ''It would probably be a good idea if I let someone in.''

For a second, her panic at Oliver being here is replaced by the old bitterness that always accompanies her memory of him. ''So you thought you'd start with the first person you pushed away.'' As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Not because of the guilty look in his eyes but because she had been so sure she was past this. Past _him._ She still misses her sister, especially in those moments where Jay will say or do something that reminds her of Sara, but she has new hurt these days. New pain. New anger. She doesn't have the time or the room for grudges. She has a child to raise. Plus, what does she care that Oliver Queen pushed her away? As cruel as it sounds, he doesn't exactly rank high on her list of priorities.

''I did that to protect you,'' Oliver says quickly, offering her a fleeting, sheepish smile. ''And then I saw you yesterday and I realized I hurt you.''

''Ollie,'' she shakes her head and licks her lips slowly, trying to figure out a way to gently break it to him that she doesn't have the time to care that much about what he thinks or her or the things he says to her when he is deliberately trying to get her to hate him. Eventually she scraps that idea and goes for polite. ''You didn't have to - ''

He produces a carton of ice cream from the paper bag with a flourish. ''I brought ice cream.'' He looks down at the carton of ice cream. ''I thought about many things on the island. But... There was one thing that I thought about every day.'' He lets out a small huff of embarrassed laughter, which sounds odd coming from him considering back when she knew him he had no shame about...anything, really. ''I actually dreamed about it. And I promised myself that if I ever got a chance to do it again, I'd do it with you.'' He holds up the ice cream, no doubt trying to entice her into letting him inside. ''Eat ice cream.''

She smiles weakly at the boyish smile on his face. She still doesn't let him in. ''That's sweet,'' she says, tilting her head to the side. ''And very clever. But I have a million things to do and to be totally honest,'' she grimaces, nodding at the carton. ''I'm not much of a mint chocolate chip girl anymore.''

''What are you talking about? It's your favourite.'' ''It was my favourite,'' she corrects. ''But when I was pr - '' She cuts herself off, clearing her throat loudly and tugging at her ear nervously. ''Um, a few years ago... A few years ago, I went through this phase where it was all I wanted to eat...for...for some reason, and it kind of backfired.'' She chuckles under her breath. ''Turns out, once you've had it come back up, it becomes hard to stomach the stuff. These days, I'm more of a rocky road girl. It's just...'' She drops her gaze, grip on the door loosening. She lets go, but hides her left hand behind her back and hopes he won't notice. ''One of those things, you know.'' She lifts her eyes just enough to meet his. ''Tastes change,'' she whispers.

Oliver looks crestfallen. For about a second. Less than. He covers it with a soft smile, one that looks sad and regretful, but understanding. Again: She really has no idea what to do with this new Oliver. There's something incredibly gentle about him, in ways he wasn't before, but there's also something deeply disturbing and dangerous lurking under the surface. She does have some experience with this sort of thing, what with being married to a guy who was not only a sweet, attentive dorky dad but also an addict with severe PTSD and depression and some possibly serial killer-like tendencies. So. There's that.

However, Laurel recognizes that Oliver Queen is not any of her business. There are more important things.

''Right,'' he nods. ''You're right,'' he shuts his eyes briefly and lets out a breath. ''I'm sorry. I didn't think. You're - ''

The sound of a crash from her bedroom cuts him off. Her eyes widen and she clenches her teeth, panic blooming. She is fairly certain that he should be able to see her heart beating out of her chest by now. In retrospect, she doesn't really know why she is working so hard to keep this a secret from him. It's not like she's guilty for moving on. She was. For a long time, she was guilty about moving on, about being so happy and content in her life when her sister was dead and the Queen family was falling apart. She was terrific at feeling guilty. Guilt and anger and grief... That's how she and her husband met. But then she had a baby and things just...changed. This is her life. She can't keep it a secret forever.

Honestly, there's just a part of her that is afraid Oliver will be a dick about it, like maybe he would have been five years ago. Or like her father was when she announced she was pregnant and he accused her of ''ruining her life.'' Or like Tommy was when she started seeing a - oh, what tasteful way did he put it? ''A surly bowlegged douchebag with issues and a closet full of flannel - seriously, would it kill the man to own one John Varvatos shirt - who can't provide for you, and also, he's way too old for you, okay? He was nine when you were born. _Nine._ That's almost ten. Which is a decade. And I think he has a wonky eye. And he's a huge jackass. Has your father run a background check yet? Because he looks like a criminal. And you're _Laurel Lance._ You deserve better. Come on. Really? This guy? _This guy?_ ''

And that is just so not something she needs in her life right now.

Oliver's reaction to the noise is unexpected. To say the least. His entire body goes ramrod straight and his eyes completely close off, jaw clenching, lips pressing into a thin, tight line. It's not a familiar look. Not on him, anyway. ''Laurel,'' even his voice is different, a tight warning. He steps forward into her personal space without her permission, hands moving to her shoulders. ''Someone's here.''

''Oliver. No, Ollie. It's - ''

He steps over the threshold, moving her body out of the way carefully and with ease, practically lifting her off the ground. He steps in front of her just as the bedroom door creaks open. She moves to grasp his arm and pull him out of the apartment, but it's already too late. Oliver has stopped short and is staring, wide eyed, jaw hanging open, at the little boy in the bedroom doorway.

Jay is standing there, sleepy and sniffly and hiding half his face behind his blanket, staring very intently at Oliver with the uncovered eye. Most likely because Oliver is staring at him and Jay has always been a weirdly intense kid when it comes to staring contests. ''Oh,'' Laurel breathes out. ''Jay.'' She places herself in between the boys easily, but Oliver is still staring over her shoulder. ''Jay,'' she tries again. ''Jay, honey.'' Nothing. '' _Josh_.''

Jay looks up.

''What are you doing out of bed?''

He shrugs and puts his blanket over his head.

''I - I thought you were asleep.''

''I woke up,'' he says simply. He removes the blanket from over his head and scampers over to her, smashing his face into her leg. ''And you weren't there. And then I hearded voices. And then the lamp fell.'' He looks up at her innocently. ''All by itself. I didn't do it.'' He peers around her, up at Oliver and frowns curiously. ''You're the man from the TV.''

Laurel holds her breath.

''I... Yes,'' Oliver rasps. ''I am. And you...'' He looks from Jay to Laurel, and then back to Jay. He makes a valiant attempt at a bright smile. ''You look just like your mom.''

Jay nods seriously. ''Daddy says that, but Mommy says I have Daddy's eyes.'' His little fingers tug at Laurel's shirt. ''Grandpa says I look like my Auntie Sara.''

Laurel closes her eyes, only partly because of the stricken look on Oliver's face.

''The lady - The lady on the TV said that y-you came back from the dead,'' Jay says, and then proceeds to wipe his nose on his mother's pant leg. He pulls away and clutches his blanket to his chest, coughing into it.

Laurel feels her heart sink to the pit of her stomach. Oliver's mouth is working soundlessly, obviously trying - and subsequently failing - to come up with something to say. She takes pity on the poor, flabbergasted guy and lifts her son into her arms, settling him on her hip and pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head. ''Jay,'' she murmurs against his skin, ''baby - ''

''No, but,'' his voice drops down to a near whisper. ''I-It's okay, Mommy.'' He leans in to whisper in her ear, her shirt clenched in his closed fist. ''It's okay 'cause...'cause if he can come back from the dead then maybe - ''

''Josh,'' she cuts him off with a heavy sigh of his name and he falls silent. He looks tired, still pale from the fever that only just broke a few hours ago, and smelling faintly of sweat and cough syrup. She holds him tight, smoothing sandy brown hair away from his forehead. She isn't at all sure what to say to him. What can she say? ''It's bedtime, honey,'' is all she's able to force out. She sends a quick smile in Oliver's direction - at least she hopes it's something that could pass for a smile - and mumbles an apology and a quick excuse to make a hasty retreat, leaving him alone in her apartment, probably still gobsmacked.

She doesn't mean to be rude - which, well, she kinda figures hiding from a guest is rude - but she needs to get away from him right now. There are tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and she needs a minute to compose herself before she faces him and the inevitable questions. She inhales and exhales until the tears recede and pastes a bright smile on her face as she tucks Jay back into her big empty bed, kissing his forehead and promising that she won't be long. He tries to protest, of course, telling her that he wants to talk to the man from the TV, but she does eventually get him to stay in the room, after promising to read him The Lorax for the fifth time today.

When she finally makes her way back into the living room, she's surprised to see Oliver still waiting. She had half expected him to bolt as soon as he saw Jay. He's never been a bad person, but he was a selfish man. Years ago, when she had expressed her desire to someday have kids after a mutual friend of theirs had announced her pregnancy, he had... Well, he had fucked her sister apparently. But he's still there, standing in her living room. He's put the ice cream down on the coffee table and he's standing completely still, eyes fixed on the picture frame he's holding. He looks mostly pensive and confused, but there's something else in his eyes that she never would have expected to see. He looks almost wistful. She hesitates and then makes her way over to him silently, coming to a stop right behind him.

The picture he's staring down at so intently is from Jay's third birthday party. It had been a hard one to get through for all of them, given that it was the second birthday without his dad, but it had been way better than his second birthday, which was only a couple weeks after his dad went missing, and she had tried her best to make it a happy day. She had thrown him a big birthday party in the park with cake and a bouncy castle and entertainers and kids everywhere. It was pirate themed. Jay had loved it. Until he woke up the next morning, ecstatic and running through the apartment calling for his dad because that was the only thing he had wished for.

In the picture, Laurel has Jay on her hip and they're wearing pirate hats and eye patches, brandishing balloon swords and giving the camera their best swashbuckling sneer. They look happy. It's a good picture. Something of a lie, yeah. But a good picture nonetheless.

''Oliver,'' she says.

He barely reacts, placing the picture down calmly and turning towards her. She can't read the look on his face. That's more unnerving than it sounds. He is utterly impenetrable now. Can't get past those walls. She's not overly confident it would be a good idea to try. Some people have walls for a reason. ''So,'' he says. He releases a long, slow, even breath, and then he smiles. It looks like a real smile, but it's hard to tell. ''You're a mom.''

She can't help it. She smiles. She smiles wider than she has in a long time. She has made a lot of foolish mistakes in her life and she has done a lot of things that she has regretted, but she has never regretted Jay. As hard as it is sometimes and as unexpected as he was, she has loved every single second of being a mom. ''I'm a mom.''

''Congratulations,'' he says softly. He glances back at the picture of her and Jay and she hears him suck in a breath. When he looks back at her, there's an apologetic look in his eyes, like he's already regretting what he's about to ask her. ''Uh, he's not... I mean, I don't - There's no way...'' He trails off and shuts his eyes, looking positively mortified.

She keeps her mouth shut a few seconds longer than she should, because she does enjoy letting him stew, and then she laughs and drifts away from him, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she goes. ''No,'' she says firmly, definitively. ''He's three, not five.''

''Right,'' he nods. ''Right. Sorry.'' He shakes his head.

Okay, so she'll admit she's a little endeared by the way his cheeks redden. Sue her. It's cute. Disarming. But even with the ice cream and the adorable embarrassment, Oliver Queen is just not hers anymore. And she stopped being his the second he chose to step foot on that boat with her sister. She will forgive him. She is sure of that. That's just the kind of person she is.

''You're far too good for me, Miss Lance,'' Oliver used to tell her, grinning at her over a gin and tonic.

''You are a saint and I love you,'' Tommy had sighed in relief, whenever she agreed to accompany him to some event.

''You're such a good girl,'' her father had babbled every night that she had to pick him up from a bar in the middle of the night, right before he accidentally mentioned Sara's name and burst into drunken sobs.

''You have no idea how intimidating your goodness is,'' her husband told her once, before he was her husband, back when he was just some mildly annoying reluctant friend who said he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and meant it. ''It's almost fucked up. You're like a superhero. Laurel Lance, saving the world with a smile and the heart of a fuckin' lionness. You should wear a costume,'' he had chuckled, before she rolled her eyes and leaned into kiss him for the first time, catching him wonderfully off guard.

So, yeah. Yeah, Laurel will forgive Oliver. And she'll probably even let him into the perimeters of her life at some point. But - and no disgustingly inappropriate pun intended - that ship has sailed. But it still begs the question: What is he really doing here? What was he hoping to find with her?

''I'm just surprised,'' he adds on.

''You think you're surprised,'' she scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. ''You should've seen me when the stick turned pink.''

''I just...'' Oliver suddenly looks very lost, standing there looking around like he's trying to find his footing or remember why he's here. His eyes dart around the room wildly and there is a pained look in his eyes that she is not vain enough to believe she is the sole reason for. ''I guess I missed a lot.''

She looks down at the ground, biting her tongue to keep from saying something like _no shit_. ''Yeah,'' is what she says instead. ''You did.'' She has no idea what else to say to him, but she knows she has to say something. When she raises her eyes to him, he's not looking at her anymore and there's a strange look on his face. ''What?'' She turns to follow his gaze. ''What are you - '' and then she sees the picture behind her '' - oh.''

Oliver's shoulders slump and he smiles softly, an odd mixture of disappointment and relief clouding his eyes. ''You're married.''

She looks between him and the picture and eventually, her gaze settles on the picture taken on her wedding day. They didn't have a big, formal wedding. Just a small ceremony in a local park with close friends and family a few months after Jay was born. He had wanted to give her a big wedding. He had been adamant about it. He had proposed to her when she was six months pregnant with Jay and they had started planning this huge event, but for a lot of reasons, the idea was scrapped and they went with quiet and easy instead. She didn't mind. It had never been about that for her. She didn't want the wedding. She wanted the marriage. It was a simple wedding with a quick ceremony, and she hadn't even worn a real wedding dress; just a white sundress that fell below her knees and had prints of yellow canaries on the hem.

The reception, on the other hand, had been wild and crazy. It went well into the early morning and at one point there had been Cirque du Soleil performers and keg stands. Laurel maintains that allowing Tommy Merlyn to throw her wedding reception was both one of the worst decisions she has ever made and one of the best. But she was happy. There was (is) a space in her life where Sara used to be and her own mother didn't even show up, claiming it was short notice and she couldn't get away, but she was happy that day. Truly.

She clears her throat and turns her back on Oliver completely, picking up a different picture and staring down at the happy faces. It was taken somewhere around Christmas time when Jay was about six months old. In the picture, Jay is bundled up in winter clothing and safe in his dad's arms and Laurel is pressed close to both of her boys. Her husband's arm is stretched out to take the picture with her phone and they're standing in front of the giant lavish lit up Christmas tree that goes up in downtown Starling City every year. ''Yep,'' she forces a smile for Oliver, but still can't bring herself to look at him. ''I'm a Mrs.''

''I didn't know,'' he says very quietly, from right behind her.

She snaps out of it, putting the picture down and looking up at him with a frown. ''How could you?''

''You didn't want me to know,'' he states. He doesn't sound particularly hurt, but there is a vaguely wounded puppy dog look in his eyes.

She winces. ''Oliver - ''

''It's fine, Laurel. You don't owe me an explanation.''

She feels her body stiffen and she draws herself up to her full height, hoping that the slightly scowl she offers is just menacing enough without being cruel. ''You're right,'' she says firmly. ''I don't own you an explanation. I don't actually owe you anything, Oliver.'' Perhaps that is unnecessarily harsh, but people have constantly been giving her grief about her choice to keep her marriage and her child from him, like he needs to know for some mysterious reason, like he _deserves_ to know, and it is, quite frankly, ridiculous. She does not _belong_ to him. She has never _belonged_ to him. And her life is her life. Oliver Queen is not entitled to her or any knowledge of her life. It's sad that she apparently has to say this out loud. ''But I do have a heart,'' she tacks on. ''And I didn't want to...'' She trails off, pressing her lips together. ''You just got back. I didn't want to overload you,'' she covers with a shrug.

He nods, but doesn't look completely convinced. ''I suppose it makes sense now,'' he muses. ''Why Tommy was so adamant I stay away from you.''

Laurel laughs. ''Tommy,'' she murmurs warmly. ''He's a good friend. He's become incredibly protective of me.''

''I noticed.''

They fall into a not quite comfortable silence and she tries to keep the smile on her face from slipping. Oliver looks awkward, like he's torn between wanting to leave and wanting to ask her more questions. He is looking intently at the wedding picture. She can tell that he's sizing up the man in the picture, trying to gauge whether or not he's good enough for her just by looking at his face in the photograph. She hesitates, her entire being still curled protectively around her husband's memory, and then she says in a quiet breath, ''Dean.''

Oliver looks up sharply. ''What?''

''My husband,'' she says. ''That's his name. Dean Winchester.'' She licks her lips slowly and winces in pain, staring down at the platinum band on her ring finger. She twists it anxiously and inhales. It does not go unnoticed by Oliver, she's sure, but he also doesn't say anything and she's grateful for that.

''You look happy,'' he tells her, nodding at the picture.

She closes her eyes and does her best to breathe evenly around the ache in her throat. ''We were.'' She opens her eyes just in time to see the tick in Oliver's jaw and the pre-emptive grimace on his face because he already knows what she's going to say. It's pity. That jaw tick and grimace. Laurel knows that look like the back of her hand. Her boyfriend cheated on her with her sister, they died, her father became an alcoholic, her mother vacated her life almost completely, she got knocked up out of wedlock, and her husband... Well. Let's just say that she knows pity.

''Were?''

She doesn't look at him, still twisting her ring and staring at Dean's face in the picture. ''He, um... Dean passed away. About a year ago. It-It was a work accident.'' She clenches her teeth and swallows hard. It's been a year - it's been over a year - and it's still hard to say without wanting to throw up. Dean is dead. It still doesn't make sense to her.

Oliver lets out a long, slow breath. Even that is somehow pitying. ''I'm sorry.''

She lifts her eyes to give him a watery smile. ''Yeah, me too.''

And that is, of course, the exact moment that her bedroom door opens and a seriously impatient three year old calls out, ''Mommy!'' He sounds frustrated and dangerously close to a meltdown. ''I need you! I can't find Sweetheart!''

She jumps at the sound of her son's voice. ''Oh. Crap.'' She whirls around, instantly spotting the stuffed monkey on the couch. ''Jay, honey, I've got her! I'll be right there, okay?''

Jay heaves a long suffering sigh. ''Okaaay!''

Laurel's a little surprised when he heads back into the bedroom without any whining whatsoever, door shutting with a soft click, and then she remembers that she left her iPad in the drawer of her nightstand. Well, yeah. Sure. Jay is an iPad freak. He is constantly swiping it from her purse or her bedroom. She can't remember the last time she got to use it. Getting him back to sleep is going to be fun. She sighs, looking down at the stuffed monkey with the overwhelmingly sad eyes in her hands. She glances up at Oliver. ''Ollie - ''

''I should go.''

''Yeah. I'm sorry. It's just Jay's sick,'' she says, following him to the door, ''and he's monumentally cranky and clingy right now. His dad...'' She shakes her head, letting out a small chuckle. ''Dean was way better at helping a sick kid. I swear he had superpowers.''

''It's fine,'' Oliver waves it off. ''Really. I shouldn't have come over uninvited.'' He stops in the doorway, hovering almost nervously, and then he turns to her, puppy dog eyes and all, and says, for the thousandth time, ''I'm sorry.''

Her fingers tighten around Sweetheart and she draws in a breath. ''You apologized already.''

''And it will never be enough,'' he says.

She opens her mouth to speak, but doesn't know what to say to that. She'll forgive him in time. But she's not entirely sure he'll ever forgive himself. She could comfort him right now. Tell him that he's a good person and that he should let people in. That he can't carry around this burden all by himself, but he won't listen. She knows that. Instead of trying, she just offers him a smile and says, ''Good night, Ollie. You should go home. Spend some time with Thea. Catch up on all the movies you missed. ...I'll see you, okay?'' It's not forgiveness. Not exactly. But...

It will have to be good enough for now.

.

.

.

After putting the ice cream away and turning off all the lights, Laurel crawls into bed with Jay and the stuffed monkey dubbed Sweetheart because ''that's what Daddy calls you'' that Grandpa Bobby bought for Jay shortly before he passed away.

Jay is wide awake, happily watching The Backyardigans on the iPad. He's sniffling, continuously wiping his nose on his blanket despite her telling him to use the Kleenex, but he seems in better spirits than before. He hasn't brought up ''the man from the TV'' yet, which she is eternally grateful for, but she expects to be hit with a bunch of questions she's not sure how to answer tomorrow. Laurel is half asleep beside him, clumsily pulling her son's thumb out of his mouth every time he tries to suck on it, a bad habit that he has had since he was a baby and one that she can't seem to get him to quit. Other than the sound of animated animals singing songs about their adventures on the iPad, the bedroom is quiet and it's hard not to think about Dean and all of the things he's missing out on.

''Mommy,'' Jay whispers, patting her on the cheek, after the episode has ended and the iPad is lying forgotten on top of the covers. ''Mommy,'' he repeats, sitting perched on his knees, Sweetheart clutched to his chest. ''You look sad.''

''No, baby, I'm not - I just...'' She sighs and pushes herself up into a sitting position, back against the headboard. ''I just miss your dad, Jay.''

''Oh,'' he nods in understanding, and then tilts his head to the side. ''Is Daddy going to come home?''

''Jay, that's not... We've talked about this. People don't... They can't come back.'' She reaches out to cup his cheek. ''Daddy can't come back.''

''The man from the TV did.''

Well, this is not a conversation she wants to have with a three year old. ''Josh, sweetie, it's bedtime,'' she mumbles tiredly, because what else can she really say? ''We have to go to sleep now. Tomorrow's Saturday. What do we get to do on Saturday?''

He perks up. ''Pancakes with Grandpa!''

''That's right. So the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you get to have pancakes and bacon.''

He thinks about that for a second and then leans over the side of the bed to pluck something from the ground. He produces The Lorax with a flourish and a winning smile that is nearly identical to his father's, scooting closer to her and handing her the book. ''You promised,'' he says.

Even though her eyelids feel like they weigh about a million pounds and she's not sure how she's going to get through this without falling asleep, she grins back. ''Okay, baby,'' she says, as he cuddles into her. ''One more time.'' She opens the book, takes in a deep breath, and clears her throat. ''At the far end of town where the Grickle-grass grows and the wind smells slow-and-sour when it blows and no birds ever sing excepting old crows is the Street of the Lifted Lorax...''

.

.

.

Somewhere in Maine's 100 Mile Wilderness, there is a flash of light.

.

.

.

**end**


	4. Underdogs Wednesdays #4: Fluffy Ficlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Underdogs Wednesday, everyone! Is everyone in the SPN fandom okay after last night? I know I'm not.
> 
> So, okay. Originally, I was going to do a different super fluffy not!fic for today that involved inserting Laurel into the SPN world as opposed to inserting Dean into the Arrow world, which I seem to do a lot, but after last night's Supernatural episode, I decided to break out an even sweeter, cavity inducing Happily Ever After not!fic because... Well, because I am in dire need of some cheering up. For a couple of reasons.
> 
> A) After last night's absolutely dreadful midseason finale that failed at making up for this incredibly bad season (with the exception of 9.07, which was actually amazing), Supernatural and I have decided to take some time apart while it rethinks it's terrible life choices.
> 
> and
> 
> B) Well. I mean. I'm a Katie Cassidy and a Laurel Lance fan, so I've been in dire need of cheering up ever since the Arrow writers made it abundantly clear that they have no idea what they're doing with Laurel and Katie.
> 
> And so! Behold the uber fluffy oneshot that involves these two characters getting some goddamn happiness for once. (No, but seriously. This is ALL THE FLUFF.)
> 
> Suggested Listening (this is a new thing I'm going to start doing every Wednesday because I have a massive Dean/Laurel playlist and I thought I'd share): Say (All I Need) by OneRepublic | Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars | New York by Snow Patrol | Yellow Light by Of Monsters and Men

**/iv/**

.

.

.

Dean comes home late.

He has been gone for two weeks this time. It is neither the longest amount of time he has been gone nor the shortest, but these past two weeks have been completely fucking hellish with back to back cases and barely enough time to sleep. So when he slips into the apartment, when he is finally able to let out a sigh of relief because he's _home_ , he is exhausted right down to the bones. He can't even begin to describe how good it feels to be home. Laurel has been nothing but supportive and she makes this long distance thing look so easy - calling him every day, reminding him to check in with her every night, texting regularly, planning Skype dates, phone sex, all with a smile on her face - but Dean hates it. He wants to be with _her_ , not her face on Sam's laptop or her voice on his cell, and maybe that's selfish, maybe he should stop whining and be grateful that he has any part of her at all, but what the fuck ever. It's the holidays, okay? Excuse him for wanting a real relationship at Christmas. Honestly, they've been doing this for two years, with him coming home when he can, and it's getting old.

He's thinking it might be time to retire soon.

After he has dropped his duffel bag down by the door and stripped off his bloody jacket that needs to be washed (and then probably thrown out because it's all clawed to hell from last week's werewolf), he finds her on the couch. She's fast asleep, wearing his Eye of the Tiger t-shirt with a blanket draped over her, and she looks peaceful. It's a good look on her, and not one he sees on her often given that she's always busy with work and her... _hobbies._ The _hobbies_ that she shares with Oliver Queen. There is a mug of cold tea on the coffee table and various papers from her work scattered all over. Her glasses, still on her face, are slipping down her nose. The apartment is dark, save for the light from the muted television that casts strange shadows on her face, but he can see that she looks a little pale. Probably still recovering from that stomach bug, he decides. He remembers her calling him last week, sick as a dog, complaining about missing work and that Adam really didn't need to send her home because she was fine. He also remembers her making an abrupt departure in the middle of the call to go throw up seconds after insisting she was fine.

He doesn't bother waking her; just takes the glasses off her face and gently scoops her up in his arms. She stirs slightly but relaxes when he assures her that, _it's just me, babe,_ _go back to sleep,_ falling back into a deep slumber as soon as he places her in the bed and pulls the comforter up over her.

Despite his deep, _deep_ tiredness, Dean doesn't crawl straight into bed with her and sleep for 48 hours, which is what he'd love to do right about now. He takes a quick shower to let the hot water relax his tense, strained muscles, throws on some sweats and pads bare footed into the kitchen. He hasn't had anything decent to eat in two weeks. ...He's definitely going to spend all day tomorrow cooking. He cannot survive off of gas station burritos and Big Macs anymore. He's been spoiled by having a real kitchen.

Also, nobody should ever have to suffer through the after effects of a gas station burrito. And by after effects, he means sitting in a car with a gassy Sam. If Dean had any government secrets, he would talk after five minutes in that gas chamber, let's be real.

Because he has quite possibly the best girlfriend in the history of girlfriends, there is a plate of homemade snickerdoodles waiting for him in the kitchen. He swears he can hear a chorus of Christmas tree toppers singing _Hallelujah_ when he sees it. Laurel may not be the best cook - Laurel may, in fact, be one of the worst cooks - but she is a fantastic baker and he remains firm in his belief that you haven't lived until you've tasted her apple tarts that she makes for Christmas Eve. Her father has written poetry about those tarts. Drunken poetry, but still very touching poetry. Dean makes a beeline for the cookies, peels back the plastic wrap with the excitement of a little boy, and almost misses the envelope sitting next to the plate.

In Laurel's loopy handwriting, it says: _Open me for an early Christmas present!_

He chuckles to himself and sticks the rest of his half eaten cookie in his mouth, plucking the envelope from the counter. He figures it's probably one of those obnoxious singing cards that he hates, because she's made it clear that she thinks his old man grumpiness when it comes to things like singing cards and over the top blow up holiday decorations and fancy gum is hilarious. He opens the envelope and pulls out the card, trying to ready himself for a sudden explosion of glitter or singing. He's ready for all of that. He is not ready for what it actually is.

The card is just a generic Christmas card, not a singing one and there's no glitter, with a picture of two snowmen - a big one and a little one - but it's what it says that stops him dead. Above the snowmen, the card reads, _Merry Christmas, Dad!_

On the yellow post it note that Laurel has stuck to the front, she has written, _now you have a reason to tell all those cheesy dad jokes that you think are so funny!_ There is a moment, one that goes on for far too long, where he has no idea what's happening. It's a prank. It's just a joke. Or it's a trick. Or it's a dream. Yeah, that's probably it. It's a dream. It's got to be a dream. He's had this dream before. But it's not... This isn't... He doesn't get this. No way does _he_ get this.

And then he opens the card.

The grainy black and white picture falls out and flutters down onto the counter top, and his heart rate goes wild. He snatches it up and stares down at the sonogram, waiting for his brain to catch up with what's happening right now. The card reads

_To Daddy_

_I hope you're ready for this._

_Love, Mommy_

and that's when it all sinks in and the hazy fog of doubts trying to tell him that this can't possibly be real dissipates.

He hears her voice from behind him, a low mumble of his name, and when he whirls around she is standing there glowing, looking nervous but so damn happy. He's still clutching the sonogram in his hands, the edges of it crumpled from his tight grip. He clears his throat and tries to say something, but all that he manages to get out is, _Laur, is this...? Are you...?_

She nods, eyes bright, lips pulling up into a shaky but genuine smile and tells him, _I'm pregnant._

He looks back at the sonogram - at the tiny little thing that looks like a peanut that they made - and trips over his words when he says, _you're - we're having a baby?_

She nods again, laughing out a, _we're having a baby._

That's it. That's all he needs.

He crosses the room in three quick strides, cups her face, and crashes his lips down onto hers, kissing her soundly. She's laughing against his lips and he can tell just by the sound of her choked laughter that her eyes are wet, but so are his. This is real. The second the kiss ends, he's pulling her in for a crushing hug and then almost immediately pulling away and murmuring apologies, _sorry, sorry, am I squishing the baby? I don't want to squish the baby._

She laughs this long, loud, free sounding laugh and lays her warm hands against his cheeks. _No, no, I think you're good_ , she whispers. _Does this mean you're happy?_

It means that this is the happiest he has felt in a long time. He laughs, _happy? Laur... Laurel, you have no idea. You're going to be a mom._

She leans her forehead against his and lets out a contented sounding hum of, _you're going to be a dad._

_I love you,_ he blurts out, and peppers her face with kisses. No snark, no sarcasm, no awkward attempts to get those words out. He just says it. It's not something that has been easy for him to say previously, but with her... She makes it easy. _I love you,_ he mumbles between kisses, _so much._ She's always made it easy to love her. How could anyone not?

Oh, yeah.

By the way, he's definitely retiring now.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And then Dean became a stay at home dad while Laurel went out and saved the world. (For real though, all joking and sarcasm aside, I think that Dean would absolutely one hundred percent adore being a stay at home dad. I'm pretty sure that'd be like his dream job.)
> 
> I'm thinking next week is going to be a Jayverse version of 1x13 of Arrow. I feel like this series is in need of some action hero moments for Dean and Laurel.


	5. Underdogs Wednesdays #5: Relationship Tag#1 (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, this is not what it should be because, um, well... Because I'm awful.
> 
> Full disclosure? My internet has been out all day and it's still wonky, so I'm doing this really fast. Which means this is not as good as it should be.
> 
> And also, I...might have forgotten it was Wednesday. So... This is what today is. A relationship tag from tumblr.

**/v/**

.

.

.

**who cooks:**

Dean. Definitely Dean.

Laurel is _not_ a cook.

She knows her way around most breakfast foods - pancakes are her specialty - and you have not lived until you have tasted her baking, especially around the holidays (adorable little cookies that look like fingers at Halloween, seventeen hundred thousand different kinds of pies at Thanksgiving, the orgasm inducing - yeah, that's right - apple tarts at Christmas, giant heart shaped sugar cookies on Valentine's Day, a cake shaped like a bunny at Easter) but cooking is something incredibly foreign to her. She has been busy her entire life. Her whole family has. No one ever taught her to cook. Her mother worked, her father worked, and it wasn't like Sara ever asked her to make her food after school - Laurel would have learned to be Martha Stewart if Sara had asked for that, but even when they were kids, Sara was always so independent - so she simply never needed to know how to cook. Once she was out on her own, microwavable dinners became staples, takeout was a must, and - this is going to sound horrible - she always had rich boyfriends dragging her out to every new hip restaurant in town.

Dean has a similar history, of course. Been busy his entire life. There have been a lot of gas station delicacies, fast food, cereal, bread and peanut butter sandwiches, and spagetti-o's, simply because he's never had an actual home with a real kitchen. The difference is that Laurel had parents who brought home dinner. Dean had a father who left him and his brother alone for days at a time in shitty apartments or stale motel rooms, sometimes without enough money to feed both boys. Dean taught himself to cook starting when he was twelve years old and Sammy said he was tired of peanut butter. For a very long time, he told himself that he cooked because - well, because someone had to be Sam's parent. And then he started enjoying himself. There is something soothing about cooking for him.

Now that he has a kitchen of his own, he utilizes it as much as possible, cooking elaborate meals and trying out any new recipes he can get his hands on, filling the fridge up with tupperware containers full of homemade cabbage rolls, coconut curry chicken, pesto sauce, and all sorts of fresh produce and herbs.

Laurel tells him all the time, over plates of fresh grilled salmon with lemon dill sauce, or brisket with mashed potatoes and gravy, or homemade gnocchi, _you spoil me, Winchester._

He just winks, puts a plate of food in front of her, kisses the side of her mouth and says, _you're damn straight I do, Laur, someone's got to._

.

.

.

**who does the laundry and other chores:**

They divvy up the household chores quite evenly because they're grown adults.

Grown adults who are both...kind of neat freaks, to be honest. Every time he leaves a mess of dirty dishes in the kitchen, she narrows her eyes and twitches with her arms folded over her chest, body tense, until he cleans it up. Every time she vaults in through the window at night after patrolling with Oli - The Arrow, he sits in bed and passive aggressively sips at his water or reads a book until she cleans up the mud she has tracked inside. It's actually something that's gotten worse since they both got sober, but hey. It's working for them.

.

.

.

**how many children do they have:**

I would have a hard time seeing them with a big brood.

They're both incredibly nurturing people who have proven that they like and are great with kids of all ages (Laurel with Thea and Taylor, the boy from 1.20, and Dean with...every kid or teenager who has been on Supernatural) and it would make perfect sense for them - especially Dean - to crave a big family. But it probably wouldn't be in the cards for them. In the comics, Black Canary couldn't have kids (and I strongly suspect Arrow might be going down that route as well) so who knows? They might just wind up being the doting aunt and uncle who spoil Sam's kids rotten and then hand them back when they're sufficiently hyped up, full of sugar and have bags full of new toys and clothes and really anything else that was asked for (Dean's a pushover is what I'm saying).

If they did have kids, however... They wouldn't have more than two. A boy and a girl. They would be wonderful parents.

Laurel would have a truly amazing level of patience and understanding. Dean would always be there to make his kids laugh.

She would do her best to be as present in her children's lives as possible, going to every dance recital, school play, and spelling bee, because as much as she loves them, her parents were workaholics for her entire life and they missed out on things.

He would constantly be reminding his kids that yeah, it's super great for you to look out for each other but also make sure that you have lives outside of each other, because he knows firsthand that you should have more in your life than just your sibling.

They would also be obnoxious.

Aside from being _those parents_ \- you know, the ones who are always making out or cuddling or flirting despite their kids' grossed out shrieks, and getting really intensely into soccer games and school debates - they'd also be super cheesy. Dean would make Dad Jokes all the live long day - and I'm not just talking about the standard _Dad, I'm hungry;_ _Hi, hungry, I'm dad_ jokes. I'm talking about the supremely serious Level One Dad Jokes. I'm talking _when is a door not a door? When it's ajar!_ Laurel would be openly affectionate with her kids, calling out _I love you_ and kissing them on the cheek in front of their friends and doing that lick your finger and wipe the dirt off your kids' face thing that Moms do.

And they would love every single second of being parents.

.

.

.

**who's more dominate:**

Well. In what way?

...Just kidding. It's Laurel. In every way _it is Laurel._

I don't even feel this needs explaining.

.

.

.

**favourite non-sexual activity:**

Honestly, their favourite thing to do together is to do absolutely nothing.

That's not to say they don't like spending time together, because they do. They love spending time together. The problem is that their lives are incredibly hectic. They are always busy, always on the go, always dealing with yet another crisis, always doing _something._ Between work, hunting, being Black Canary and her trusty sidekick, and attending those dreadfully boring functions, they barely get any time to themselves, so when they do, their favourite thing to do - aside from the obvious _alone time_ in the bedroom - is to do nothing. It doesn't matter if that means sitting on the couch and watching a movie, or going out for dinner at Big Belly Burgers and a movie, or even just being together in the quiet of the Black Canary base in The Glades, any time they get with each other to relax and sit in peaceful silence is welcome.

Also, they're superheroes together. That's a thing that they do together and enjoy.

.

.

.

**their favourite place to be together:**

Home. In the bedroom.

They also spend a lot of nights in the clock tower. For a long time, that clock tower was the bane of their existence. It was boiling hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter, it was dirty, there were occasionally rats, and there was no power. It was just a rendezvous point for Black Canary and her team. But once they revamped it and turned it into headquarters, it actually became tolerable. They had power, heating, air conditioning, lighting, and tech. It wasn't anything like Oliver's little cave in Verdant's basement, but it was good enough for them and slowly, over time, it became one of their favourite places to go. And not just for team debriefing and patch up jobs. They'll often find themselves there on their days off, watching the sunrise, or set, just because it's quiet there. She'll sit in the face of the clock, dangling her legs over the edge and watching the city move beneath her, because she has never been afraid of heights - Dean will definitely not do that; he's not afraid, okay, he's just cautious - and Dean will be puttering around inside, stringing up lights and making sure the power is working. And then they'll throw a blanket down on the permanently dusty floor and sit and watch the sunrise while he teases her about fishnets and she makes sure he knows that the only time she will wear fishnets will be in the bedroom because - whoa, not practical.

It's the peacefulness of the clock tower that makes it one of their favourite date spots. When there is no mission, no one to track down, when Sin is not blaring her music, when Charlie is not trying to out hack Felicity to see who buys dinner tonight, when there is no meeting between Green Arrow and Black Canary, it is the quietest, calmest place in the city where no one can find them and no one can tell them to suit up and save the city. And for a little while, as the sun rises, it's just them.

...I mean, at least until Sam blazes through the doors with Charlie and Sin on his heels, announcing that they have a case and it's time to get to work.

.

.

.

**any traditions:**

Honestly?

They're not exactly an overwhelmingly _traditional_ couple. That's not to say they don't try to be, because they do. They're both sentimental people and they try to make it to the burger joint where they had their first date every year on their anniversary (all these years and their anniversary has been interrupted by super-villains at least half of the time), they take Christmas off, but it's just... It's so hard to keep up with traditions when you're running a team, fighting masked men, saving people, hunting things, all that jazz...

You know?

The closest thing they have to a real tradition is this: Dean and Sam are retired supernatural hunters who are now based permanently in Starling City and working as...ahem...a mechanic and a handyman (they're totally normal dudes, yep, why wouldn't they be?). They don't drive around the US looking for cases anymore. But...

Every now and then, there will be a case that catches their attention or one of them will get a little stir crazy and so, with Laurel's permission, they'll head out for a few days - a couple of weeks at the most - and every time, without fail, when Dean comes home, he will bring Laurel a key chain or some other cheap gas station trinket that has a canary on it.

It's kind of a miracle that people don't figure out her secret identity immediately upon entering her canary infested home.

(Of course, given her history with Green Arrow, people probably just assume she's a Black Canary fangirl, which is just not true. Everyone knows Dean is the Black Canary superfan.)

.

.

.

**their ''song'':**

Total Eclipse of the Heart.

...Just kidding! No, that song is the cheesiest song in the history of cheesy songs. Their song is What Does the Fox Say. OKAY, OKAY! I'LL BE SERIOUS NOW.

It would depend on which one of them you ask.

See, Dean thinks any music made after 1999 is irrelevant, and Laurel thinks that his collection of classic rock and metal is Dad Music.

There are a couple of songs they agree on - Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd, anything by Led Zeppelin, Ride by Cary Brothers, Everlong by Foo Fighters (she likes the acoustic version, he prefers the original, either way it's the first song they danced to), I Need My Girl by The National (despite his seriously dinosaur like taste in music, I cannot shake the idea of Dean getting into The National) and he probably doesn't hate The Civil Wars as much as he says he does - and every time they get ready to go anywhere nice and she comes out of the bedroom dressed to the nines, he'll start playing You Shook Me All Night Long or sometimes just sing it at the top of his lungs.

But the one song that they have always agreed on and that they, in fact, have a lot of history with is Here Comes Your Man by Pixies.

...It's the song that was playing on the radio when they had their first kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I'm sorry. This is crap. It has just been a really bad day.
> 
> Next Week: Part two (and then after that, I will get back to some good fic and a meta about Dean Winchester + Laurel Lance parallels 'cause damn - there is a lot of them).


	6. Underdogs Wednesdays #6: Another Fluffy Ficlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The last Underdogs Wednesday of 2013!
> 
> 9.07 was the best episode of the season. I couldn't not do this.
> 
> For those not in the SPN fandom, episode 9.07 had Dean travelling back a small town in New York that he had spent time in when he was sixteen. He had been caught stealing bread and peanut butter and instead of going to juvie, he went to Sonny's Home for Troubled Boys where he finally got to live a normal, happy life with a girlfriend, a father figure who outright told him, ''I'm proud of you'' and he was on the wrestling team and everything. And then when he was getting ready to take his girlfriend to the prom, his father came back, told him he had a job to do and Dean went back to living in motel rooms and shitty apartments without complaint because he had to raise his little brother. Lord knows his father wasn't going to do it. (In present day, there was a storyline with a terrifying looking ghost and an adorable little boy.) It was a very important episode for Dean that showed that, no, he wasn't actually cool with raising his brother and hunting down evil creatures at sixteen years old and maybe he wanted a different life for himself.
> 
> This fic also does not go along with anything that happened in 9.09 of SPN because... Well, why would it? And it's a vague future fic.
> 
> Also, there's some mild Felicity/Diggle in this one because that's how I roll when it comes to Felicity pairings.
> 
> And I apologize for the somewhat rushed ending, but Christmas baking became a...more pressing matter. Because I haven't done any.

**/vi/**

.

.

.

Okay, so let's imagine that Laurel has managed to escape Starling City's wackiness somehow.

She leaves her job at the DA's office (it's just not as fulfilling as CNRI was, she's been feeling that for awhile and leaving turns out to be easier than she thought it would be), she makes a clean break from Oliver and his band of merry (wo)men (you can't expect me not to make Robin Hood references), and promises her dad she that will check in frequently and they'll Skype every Sunday night. It's not that she doesn't want to help Team Arrow. It's just that this city has caused her nothing but pain. This city broke her. The rag tag group of misfits will do fine without her. Oliver has hit his stride as a leader, he's got Diggle, Felicity, Roy, Thea, Barry Allen... He doesn't need her. And her dad's doing great! He's even dating again. And so Laurel's going to make like the Canary that she is and fly. She can save the world from corrupt idiots anywhere.

Now let's imagine that Dean has finally retired.

Sam is back in Texas trying to work things out with Amelia after an emergency with Riot brought them back together (don't ask, it's a very long Lifetime movie story, okay?), Cas is living in an apartment in Maryland with his incredibly attractive boyfriend who looks kind of like Idris Elba only with even bigger arms and makes Cas so happy that he giggles, Kevin is starting college in a few months, and Charlie and Dorothy have taken over the bunker and are running the entire Hunters/Women & Men of Letters operation better than any Winchester ever could. His family is going to be fine. He trusts them. They're adults. It's time for him to do something for himself for once in his life. And so Dean decides that it's time to retire and settle down.

Neither of them have any specific plans for their brand new chaos free lives and only vague ideas of what they might want to try doing (she knows that she misses CNRI and giving people hope and help and fighting for what is right; he thinks he might like a house, one that's his and that he can fix up and make shine), but they've been seeing each other for about a year now and what they _do_ know is that whatever they're going to do, they're going to do it together.

They decide to travel.

His brother and her father are against this plan, as they are both incredibly, annoyingly overprotective. Quentin seems to think that this is a bad idea because they are both former addicts and they haven't been clean that long (two years for her, nine months for him) and _what if something happens, Laurel?_ ( _You mean what if one of us relapses and_ _drags the other down,_ she snaps.) Sam just tells Dean to _check in regularly and maybe avoid wine country._

They leave in June. First, they head off on a real honest to God road trip. They go to Lawrence first and stop in to see Missouri, who is quick to tell Laurel that she is _too good for_ _this boy,_ which she says while she's winking at Dean and offering him a kind smile. They go to Sioux Falls, because it was once the closest thing to home he ever had and checking in on what's left is just an instinct to him by now. They see the Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Winchester Mystery House (because she thinks it's funny), and they even go to the Mall of America. They go all over California (for awhile, she's pretty adamant about moving to Los Angeles and living near the beach).

She takes a truly impressive amount of pictures and uploads all of them to her social media accounts.

He even braves an airplane for her - he braves an airplane _sober_ for her - and lets her drag him to Cabo. He complains about the heat and the sun and the sand, but she sees right through him. Dean Winchester is a total beach bum and this is honestly one of the best kept secrets about him. On their first day, she posts a picture of the view of the beach from their hotel room on her Instagram and gets comments like:

_oh my GOOOOD is that heaven? it totally looks like heaven roy never takes me any place nice :( i'm leaving him for dean watch out_ from Thea

_Tell Dean that he's making me look like a lazy boyfriend_ from Sam

_dude! that beach looks amazing! look at how blue the water is! also: remind dean to wear generous amounts of sunscreen because he freckles_ from Charlie

and

_:)_ from Oliver, who is monosyllabic even on the internet.

After Cabo, he risks an airplane for her again and surprises her by whisking her off to Rome, Italy...

...and proposing in front of the Trevi Fountain at night.

Dean Winchester is also a closet romantic. Pass it on. She knew this already because of what he did for her on their one year anniversary, but this is out of this world romantic. This is something neither of them ever thought they would ever have, and that's what makes it romantic.

He pays these two teenagers to film him proposing and snap pictures, just because he knows her and he knows she'll want pictures. And the ring is beautiful. He does a damn good job. He even asked her father for permission. She is hesitant to call it perfect, because she doesn't believe in perfect, but that's what it feels like. They're in Rome in front of the Trevi Fountain and he's proposing to her with a gorgeous ring. There's a lot of shaking and crying and laughing and it's... It's everything she used to dream Oliver would give her and everything she knew Tommy could give her. It's everything she ever wanted.

They're on their phones right after. He's calling Sam, still grinning like an idiot, and she's calling her father, still shaking. They don't tell anyone else until the next day, when she posts one of the pictures that was taken for them, of him down on one knee with the ring in his hand and her with her hands over her mouth, already crying. It takes two minutes and seventeen seconds for their phones to blow up with texts and calls and email notifications.

*incoherent flailing* is what Charlie texts Dean about eight seconds after Laurel puts the picture on Facebook.

_You couldn't have waited until Christmas? I lost the pool._ from Kevin. _Seriously though. Congratulations._

_AAAAAAHHHH! OH MY GOD! LAUREL! I CALL MAID OF HONOR!_ from Joanna.

and

_xxdfcongartul;'Ationnds_ from Cas, who still has trouble with the key pad on his phone.

After Rome, they go back to Starling City for Christmas with her father and are invited to the Queen mansion for a surprise party for Thea's birthday, which is odd, considering that Thea's birthday isn't until next month, and they wind up walking into a surprise engagement party thrown by Thea and Charlie.

It is the happiest either of them have been in a very long time.

.

.

.

On New Year's Eve, they're in Times Square, and Dean is grumbling about people smearing their germs all over him. But he still dutifully takes her phone from her hand and stretches his arm out to take a picture of them in front of the bright lights and the swarms of people. The picture she posts of them kissing on Rockin' New Year's Eve is upstaged by the picture Felicity posts of the brand new rock on her ring finger, which is fine because honestly, it's about damn time. _Those two are cheesier than us,_ Dean says, _it's about_ _fucking time he put a goddamn ring on it._

Shortly after Valentine's Day, they're in Seattle, sitting in the first Starbucks and she is trying to convince him to either A) brave another plane so they can go to Europe or B) ride a tandem bicycle, which she knows he will never do given that his reaction to that the first time she asked was a, _wow, okay, no. I love you, Laur, you know I love you, but full friggin' stop right there._

And then Dean gets a phone call.

From Sonny.

Turns out, he's retiring...

.

.

.

It's temporary.

Dean tells her that it's temporary. Hell, for a long time he tells himself that it's temporary. He is not fit to run this place. He is not fit to _fix_ people, least of all kids, especially when he has never even been able to fix himself. Besides, this isn't what he wants for Laurel. She should be taking the world by storm, not stuck in Hurleyville, New York. That was the plan. That was his plan. He was going to give her the world.

And so he tries not to fall in love with the work, with helping these kids, with everything that Sonny's Home for Boys still is to him. He goes about each day for a year telling himself that this is temporary and that he needs to find someone who can actually do this place justice.

He tries so hard not to feel like this place is home.

He fails.

The thing is...

...This was never going to be temporary.

Laurel has been on board since that first phone call, taking it all in stride, from the bad water pressure in the ancient house to the majorly nasty attitudes that some of the boys who come through here have. She never complains once. Not about missing out on Europe or being so far away from her father. She never tells him that she doesn't actually want to deal with a bunch of troubled boys and that she doesn't want to live on a freaking farm. Every night, when she's in bed, reading glasses on, book propped up on her knees, he tells her that they're not going to be here forever and that they'll be back on the road before she knows it. Every night, when he tells her this, she laughs, scrapes her fingernails down the back of his neck in this oddly soothing way and says, _whatever you say, honey._

She seems to accept this place as her new home faster than he does, adapting to the change with an incredibly amount of grace and dignity. A mere four weeks after moving in, she's gone into full on interior decorator mode. She installs new shower heads in the bathrooms, orders new kitchen appliances, redecorates the admittedly dated house, and helps him fix up the sink in the kitchen. The old barn out back? She convinces him to tear that down, build a new one and turn it into a gym for the boys. Somewhere where they can let out their aggression safely with supervision. She fills the house with board games because she's a staunch believer that all kids need to play board games with their families and she has taken it upon herself, from the very first second, to become these kids' family.

About six months into the first year, she gets a part time job at a legal aid office in town and starts helping people who have been screwed over by big companies and rich assholes. A little piece of light returns to her eyes here, illuminating a part of her that has been dark since before he met her. She's amazing.

She's nurturing and kind, tough when she needs to be, and she has a truly inordinate amount of patience. Dean's not entirely sure where she got that quality from. He's met her father and yeah, Quentin is a good father and a great man, but he's not an overwhelmingly patient man. Dean hasn't even met her mother but from what he hears, she wasn't super involved in her daughter's life. And yet Laurel is a natural at this. She is a terrific mother.

She loves it here.

Eventually, over time, when Quentin Lance makes his weekly Skype call, he starts adding in a, ''hi, boys' and every time Dean gets a phone call, whether it's from Sam or Charlie or a member of the Queen family, he is asked, ''and how are the kids doing?'' Felicity and Diggle come and stay with them for a couple days after Thanksgiving, a pit stop on their way home from Felicity's parents' place and in between Felicity and Laurel talking about weddings and Dig helping Dean with the barn, Felicity is helping tutor the boys and Dig's telling Dean that he's doing a great job.

People around town _know_ him. They greet him by name in the supermarket. He has a relationship with the local law enforcement (which will never stop being weird, but that's a story for another time). He and Laurel have a monthly double date with Robin and her husband. They're invited to parties. They have a real life here.

Slowly, over the course of a year, Dean and Laurel put down roots, until one day Dean walks into the house and has a sudden, startling realization. It comes on a sunny but chilly day in February, a year - nearly to the day - after Dean and Laurel moved in.

Currently, they have four boys in their care:

Dylan, a tiny seven year old who has said about two words in the three months he has been here and clings to Laurel like a monkey, something she does not appear to mind in the least. Dean's pretty sure that the day he leaves is going to be a bad day. Justin, a scrawny twelve year old with fetal alcohol syndrome who is probably the sweetest, most helpful kid Dean has ever met in his entire life, but who has been dealt a shitty hand in life and just can't seem to catch a break. He's been in and out of foster homes his entire life and people just keep...leaving him. Dean foresees him sticking around awhile. Lee, a fifteen year old bully who learned his behavior from his father. He has a sweet grandfather who loves him and he's been living with him, far away from his father, for a year now, but he keeps getting in trouble and in a last ditch effort to straighten him out, was sent here. And Kyle, a seventeen year old spray paint artist with a tongue made out of razor blades who got caught tagging a cop car and was offered a second chance here instead of in juvie. They're good boys, they are - anyone can see that. Well. At least Dean and Laurel can. The biggest problem that all of the boys that pass through their doors have is that the world has failed them. And even though he's not entirely sure what he's doing, Dean is trying his best to help them.

He's pretty sure he's failing, and that he needs to find someone who can actually help these boys.

And then one day, he walks into the house, arms laden with grocery bags, and finds Laurel in the living room, teaching a blushing, nervous Lee how to dance. He stops, freezing in the doorway, just behind Kyle, eyes on them.

Kyle is leaning against the doorframe, teasing Lee mercilessly about _learning to dance for some giiiirl_ and earning himself some seriously sharp glances from Laurel. Dylan and Justin are sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, Justin's homework lying forgotten on the table while Dylan has his head bent dutifully over his. Laurel lets out a soft laugh every time Lee steps on her foot, gently murmuring, _don't worry about it, you're learning_ to his red face. Lee is clearly concentrating deeply, trying his best to do this right, but it's also clear that Justin's eyes following his every movement and Kyle's mocking is not helping him. When he trips and nearly plows into Laurel, his face goes bright red and a dark look passes through his eyes. He turns on Kyle viciously, eyes dark, but stops the second Laurel puts her hand on his arm and says, very quietly, _relax, sweetie, we'll finish_ _this later when we don't have an audience._ She squeezes his arm and offers him a wink and the hot headed former bully melts, looking desperate, confused and touched all at the same time, like he's never had any sort of female influence in his life before.

On her way over to the couch, she sends Kyle a look that has the smirk falling off his lips, and then she takes her seat between Dylan and Justin, one hand tapping Justin's forgotten homework in a reminder to get busy, the other moving to Dylan's back as she leans over to check on what he's doing.

In the doorway, Dean feels suddenly breathless.

It's not like this is the first time he's walked in on a surprisingly domestic, happy scene in his new life. It's just the first time he's walked in on a surprisingly domestic, happy scene that mirrors a piece of his past from so long ago. It's the first time that he's felt this undeniable stirring in his gut that is telling him that he has to stay. That he _belongs_ here. The sudden, startling realization that stings at his eyes and turns his lips up into an awed smile is that he has a home. He hasn't had a home, at least not one like this, since he was four years old.

More importantly, he has the power to give kids who have been dealt bad hands their best shot.

How could he ever leave that?

.

.

.

When he tells Laurel that he doesn't think this is temporary, she places her warm hand on his cheek, says, _well, no shit, honey_ and her light, happy laughter echoes in his ears.

And Dean is _happy._

It feels like a beginning

.

.

.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was supposed to be Relationship Tag Part Two. But instead, since I won't be posting another Underdogs Wednesday until January 8th, I decided to finish up this beast, which has been sitting on my computer unfinished since week three.
> 
> So, happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> Expect more Dean/Laurel goodness in 2014! And yeah, definitely expect more from this 'verse. After all... I haven't written their wedding yet, have I? I'm planning on writing their wacky sitcom-like-everything-goes-wrong-but-it's-still-somehow-awesome wedding in the backyard.


	7. Underdogs Wednesdays #7: Jayverse #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2014, everyone!
> 
> So... This is late. This is extremely late. And I apologize for that. Literally five minutes before I was going to post this, my computer went all flooey and nothing was working and bad shit happened. And then, after that was sorted out, I had a panic attack that lasted about forty five minutes.
> 
> BUT FINALLY! HERE I AM! I AM HERE!
> 
> And I am here with another Jayverse. (See #3 for more info on the Jayverse.)

**vii**

.

.

.

Oliver sees her first.

Tommy - poor hungover Tommy - has just turned back to the coffee cart after taking one sip and declaring, in his best Charlie Brown impression, ''This isn't what I ordered,'' and Oliver is dutifully waiting for his friend; standing in the sunlight, enjoying the way the hot coffee combats the chill in the Fall air and basking in how peaceful the park is. Feeling somewhat content for the first time in God knows how long, he closes his eyes and lets out a long slow breath, relishing in the welcome feeling of _home._ He takes a sip of his sugar infested black coffee, opens his eyes... And there she is. As if the universe is trying to tell him something.

''Laurel,'' he mumbles, barely a breath. His body moves on its own, jerking forward and taking a singular step in her direction before he regains control of his heart and stops. His lips thin and he holds his breath, watching her from afar. She's sitting at a picnic table, a single file open in front of her, and her head is down as she scribbles down notes on a yellow legal pad. The soft breeze occasionally ruffles her hair and he can tell just by her body language that she's cold, probably shivering under her thin sweater.

He remembers that. How stubborn she was when it came to admitting she was cold, like admitting she was freezing was admitting she was weak. Her lips would have to be tinted blue before she finally gave in and accepted his jacket. Oliver takes a gulp of his coffee and ignores the way it burns his mouth and throat, too preoccupied with the way Laurel stifles a yawn and tucks her hair behind her ear. It's incredibly wrong. He knows this. Because she's married. And a mother. Not only that, but she's a widow. This is wrong. It's just...

It's _Laurel._

''Hey,'' Tommy, slurping obnoxiously on his latte and munching on a piece of biscotti, rejoins him, looking much happier now that he's got an acceptable drink and a cookie. ''What are you looking at?''

''Nothing,'' Oliver lies, but Tommy's gaze has already found Laurel.

The second he sees the object of Oliver's affections, he sighs heavily and stares up at Oliver with narrowed eyes. Slowly, still staring, eyes still narrowed, he takes another bite of his biscotti. Somehow, he manages to make eating biscotti look disapproving. ''Dude,'' he says with a shake of his head, aggressively dunking his cookie in his coffee. ''No.''

Oliver scratches the back of his neck and chews on his bottom lip. ''I know.''

''OIiver,'' Tommy snaps. '' _No_.''

''I know.''

''Married.''

''Tommy - ''

''Super. Fucking. _Married_.''

''I. Fucking. _Know_ ,'' Oliver growls, and glares heatedly.

Tommy does not back down and instead tosses out a glare of his own.

Oliver caves almost immediately. ''Look,'' he grumbles out. ''I'm not trying to - Hey.'' He stops abruptly, watching a tall - very tall, at least 6 '4 - flannel clad giant stride over to Laurel, a tray full of Styrofoam cups in one hand, a grease stained paper bag in the other. He tilts his head to the side. ''Who is that?''

Tommy swivels around briefly. ''Oh, that's Sam.'' He frowns down at his coffee, where he has just dropped the last bit of his biscotti. ''Laurel's brother-in-law.''

Oliver watches Laurel greet her brother-in-law with a bright beaming smile, slapping her file shut and sliding it into her bag. ''Right,'' he nods, but doesn't take his eyes off of Laurel.

She rises to her feet and moves past her brother-in-law, resting her hand on his shoulder briefly. Then, facing the playground, she cups her hands around her mouth and calls out, ''Boys! Food's here!''

Oliver frowns. ''Right,'' he murmurs.

''Oliver, let it go,'' says Tommy, trying to fish out the cookie.

Laurel's son - _Jay,_ he reminds himself, _short for Josh_ \- comes running out from the playground, giggling madly, cheeks flushed rosy red. Behind him, a man is running after him, chasing him, and when he catches him, he sweeps him up off the ground into his arms. Jay shrieks wildly and laughs loudly, a screeching, overjoyed kind of laugh as he is tipped upside down. There's something familiar about the man. Oliver knows him from somewhere. He's seen him, but... He just...can't quite place him. He's about his height, sandy brown hair, with at least three or four days worth of facial hair, and Jay is clinging to his leather jacket like a little monkey. The man doesn't seem to mind one bit, settling the boy on his hip comfortably. He laughs at something the child has said, head thrown back. He is still laughing when he approaches Laurel - this loud, free sounding laugh that is carried through the air by the breeze - and when he reaches her, he leans down and kisses her, free hand moving to cup her cheek.

That's when Oliver realizes where he knows this man from: The pictures in Laurel's apartment. The ones of her smiling and happy.

He opens his mouth to say something, only to promptly shut it, because he has absolutely no idea what to say or how to react to this. He clears his throat. ''Tommy,'' he begins cautiously. ''Laurel's husband... He died, right?''

''Yeah,'' Tommy eyes him suspiciously. ''But please don't tell me that you're going to use that as an excuse to try and win her back.''

''What? No,'' Oliver shakes his head. ''No. I just think he looks pretty spry for a corpse.''

Tommy whirls around when Oliver points a finger, makes the mistake of taking a sip of coffee, and then promptly spits it out as soon as he sees Walking Dead over there. Oliver jumps back to avoid getting sprayed and starts to say something, but Tommy's already gone, practically sprinting across the park with Oliver on his heels.

Laurel sees them coming - of course she does; Oliver's not convinced she didn't know they were watching her the whole time - and leaps to her feet, darting around the picnic table to form a one woman wall, keeping her family behind her. ''Tommy,'' and that's her placating, professional tone of voice. ''Oliver.'' She greets them both with a warm smile, but reaches out to place her hand against Tommy's chest to keep him back. ''Hi. How are - ''

''Laurel,'' Tommy says.

Her smile softens into this happy, relieved little smile. ''I know.''

'' _Laurel_.''

''I know,'' she insists. ''I know, okay? It's just, um - '' She looks over at her husband who...isn't even paying attention, too busy rubbing hand sanitizer onto his son's hands and handing out the food. What was his name again? It was something _Winchester,_ Oliver remembers that much. Dan? Don? Something with a D. ''It's a long story,'' she tells them.

''Nobody is ever really dead,'' Tommy deadpans. ''Is that the story? Nobody is ever really dead and life is a lie.''

''Yep,'' Laurel leans in to pinch his cheek. ''That's the story,'' she winks. ''Dean!'' Dean! That's it! See? Something with a D. She turns her head back to her boys and crooks a finger at her husband when he reluctantly lifts his head. She clasps her hands and gives him a look. ''Quit pretending you can't see them,'' she says sharply, ''and get over here.''

Her husband - Dean - listens, letting a momentary smirk flash across his lips. He leans down to whisper something in his son's ear and pats his brother on the shoulder before abandoning the picnic table and joining his wife. He's still grinning from ear to ear, but there's something dark about it and he looks quite openly unimpressed as he gives Oliver a quick onceover that nobody else catches. This vague annoyance is gone in seconds, so quickly Oliver begins to question if it was ever really there. Dean's eyes fall on Tommy and he lets out a quiet chuckle, greeting him warmly, like an old friend, ''Merlyn.'' His voice is deeper than expected and when Tommy laughs and moves in for a hug, Dean accepts it.

Oliver should have seen that one coming, really.

''Dean,'' Tommy says, pulling away from the hug, ''you look damn good for a dead guy.''

''Tommy,'' Dean says. ''You can't flirt with me in front of my wife. She'll catch on.''

''I'll save it for later then. So,'' Tommy cocks his head to the side. ''I'm just going to jump right into it. Did you fake your own death? Was it a mob thing? Did you owe money to the mob? You look like someone who would get involved with the mob.''

Dean says, very dryly, ''You just _get_ me, Merlyn.''

''All right, you two,'' Laurel curls her arm around Dean's. ''You're making me jealous.'' And that's when Dean turns his attention to Oliver and his smile just drops. Oliver's pretty sure that this is about to get as awkward as it could possibly get. Laurel clears her throat. ''Um,'' she glances at Oliver, faltering briefly before taking a deep breath and noticeably tightening her grip on her husband's arm. ''Dean,'' she says his name like a warning. ''This is - ''

''Oliver Queen,'' Dean nods, lips pinched, and then he offers his hand. ''I know who you are. Congratulations on not being a waterlogged corpse. Must be nice to be alive.''

Laurel blows out a breath and gives her husband _a look._

Oliver blinks. Ah. Right. So. Dean Winchester knows about what happened to Sara. ''It is nice to be alive,'' he agrees, perfectly pleasant, taking the hand that is offered to him. ''It certainly seems to agree with you, Mr...'' He squints, like he's trying to remember his name. ''...Laurel's Husband.''

There's a moment of tense, awkward silence in which Tommy is literally facepalming and Laurel looks about five seconds away from grabbing them both by their ears and ordering them to use their words like adults, and then, much to Oliver's surprise, Dean's face breaks into this huge grin. ''I like that,'' he says. ''Mr. Laurel's Husband. I'm gonna make people call me that. It'll be my codename.''

''Dean,'' Laurel moans, cheeks coloring, trying just a little too hard not to smile.

''What?'' He wraps an arm around her. ''We've talked about this, sweetheart. When I married you, I got eternal bragging rights. In fact, I'm going to legally change my name. Laurel Lance's Husband Winchester. I think it has a - ''

Laurel, nearly sweating from the effort not to laugh, pushes at his shoulder. ''Go back to your son before he gets ketchup and mustard all over himself and ruins his clothes, please.''

''Well, fuck, babe,'' Dean drawls. ''That's already happened and you know it. I keep telling you, we should just let the kid run around naked, but you seem vehemently opposed to that for some reason.'' But he seems to realize that she's not kidding about wanting him gone, because he leans down to press a kiss to the side of her mouth, murmurs, ''Hearts in my eyes, Laur,'' and then he offers Oliver a sickeningly sweet smile, flutters his eyelashes at Tommy, declares, ''Laurel Lance's Husband Winchester out,'' and he's gone.

Tommy, giggling into his coffee, composes himself long enough to call after him, ''We should get drinks sometime!''

To which the response is, ''Goddamn it, Merlyn! My wife is right there! She can't know about us!''

''I'm sorry,'' Laurel is quick to say, tossing an apologetic smile in Oliver's direction. ''That was...'' She pauses, frowns and presses her lips together. ''Well, that was Dean. But I apologize for his behavior. He's not known for his tact, but still. He should've - ''

''No, it's fine,'' Oliver brushes it off. ''I wouldn't like me either if I were in his position.''

She doesn't argue with that, eyes downcast. When a particularly cold breeze blows through her hair, she noticeably shivers and rubs her hands up and down her arms to keep warm.

''Okay, I'm sorry,'' Tommy bursts out, interrupting Oliver before he can offer Laurel his jacket. ''But - ''

Dean cuts back into their conversation, sidling up to Laurel with his leather jacket hooked onto his index finger. He holds it out to her with a single arched eyebrow and she rolls her eyes, but doesn't hesitate to take it. ''Masochist,'' he coughs.

''Hero complex,'' she retorts.

He shrugs. ''I regret nothing.''

Tommy waits patiently until Dean is gone and Laurel is wrapped in the jacket before he continues. ''Are you seriously not going to tell us?''

She plasters on her most innocent expression. ''Tell you what?''

Oliver and Tommy look at each other. ''Why your dead husband is walking and talking and snarking,'' Oliver says.

She bites her lip. ''Well - ''

''Laurel!'' All eyes go to her brother-in-law, tapping his watch impatiently. ''You have ten minutes until your break is over! Come eat something!''

''I'll be right there!'' She turns back to Oliver and Tommy, pauses, seemingly thinking long and hard about how to answer their question, and then she just shrugs and says with a smile and a laugh, eyes shining with her very own secret. ''Like I said - it's a long story.''

.

.

.

The long story is this:

Dean was in Purgatory.

...Huh. Okay, guess it wasn't that long.

.

.

.

The _story_ is that one night Laurel comes home to a dark, empty apartment and doesn't know what to do with herself.

Jay is at her father's for the night for some much needed Grandpa & Grandson bonding time (also known as: let's use the precious kidlet to calm Grandpa down because Grandpa's going a little crazy lately), she has just driven a fairly tipsy Joanna home to sleep it off, Tommy is God knows where doing God knows what with God knows who, Oliver is _not_ an option, and Laurel...

Laurel is alone.

Normally, she would combat this feeling by crawling into bed and sleeping through it but she's not tired; still too keyed up from having to save Oliver and Tommy's damsel asses from Max Fuller and his dumbass grudge. She flicks on the lights and surveys her apartment. It's the same as it's always been. But it's quiet. And not the peaceful kind of quiet either. No, this is the 'to remind you that you are and forever will be alone' kind of quiet.

She sighs and takes a seat on the couch, taking off her heels and taking a few deep breaths to try and fight off the urge to go and get Jay just so she won't have to be alone anymore. It's times like these, swallowed by the silence, that she misses... She just _misses._ She misses her mother, whose absence is always present, like a shadow, like a weight. She misses her husband, who never let her feel lonely for too long. She misses all of the friends she used to have, all edged out by grief and motherhood. She misses her sister. God, she misses Sara. Sara was many things, but silent was never one of them. She would be great to have around right now. If she were to see Laurel looking so sad and pathetic...

_Get up,_ she would say. _I don't care what you do - have a glass of wine, take a bubble bath, play some music and sing along - just get up. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get. Up. You are twenty seven years old and beautiful. You are far too young to be this old._

Laurel allows a quiet, choked sounding laugh to escape her lips and stares down at her wedding ring. It is not often that she allows herself to think this, but - yes. She is too young for this. She is too young for all of this. But, sitting here, in her black dress, with her hair done and her makeup flawless, full of energy that she doesn't know how to burn, she has never felt older. She has never felt more like a widow.

She stands quickly. Shakes it off. She has to do something. Productivity is the key to coping. After a moment of careful deliberation, she decides to call Sam. It hasn't been that long since they talked - barely a week - but it couldn't hurt to just check in on him. Maybe see how that situation with Amelia resolved itself. The phone rings before she even reaches it. Laurel snatches it up, eternally grateful for the distraction. ''Hello?''

_''Laurel.''_

''Sam,'' she smiles softly, heading in the direction of the kitchen. ''Hey, I was just about to call you.''

_''Laurel, listen to me.''_

She stops dead in her tracks at the sound of his tense voice. ''Sam - ''

_''Something's about to happen,''_ he says, _''and I need you not to freak out.''_

Her body stiffens and her blood runs cold. Her mind conjures up about a thousand terrifying situations, each one bloodier than the one before. ''Sam, tell me what's happening.''

_''First and foremost, this is real. He's real.''_

She almost drops the phone.

_''I've done all the tests. Holy water, silver, borax. He's clean. I'm sorry about the short notice. I wanted to give you a more appropriate heads up and call you in the morning, but you know him. He just wanted to get to you.''_

She shakes her head. ''No.'' Her fingernails dig into her palm. She clutches the phone with a white knuckled grip. ''No, this isn't - It's not possible.''

_''I called you because I wanted to prepare you. I didn't want Jay to be scared.''_

She doesn't bother to tell him that Jay's not here. She's not sure she could if she wanted to. Her tongue feels thick and heavy and her pulse is pounding in her ears. She can't remember how to speak. She can barely remember how to breathe.

_''Laurel,''_ Sam says her name gently but firmly. _''He's alive. Dean's alive.''_

There's a knock on her door.

Laurel spins around, eyes widening.

Sam says, _''Open the door, Laurel.''_

She has so many things to say. She has so many questions she needs the answers to. But she can't speak around the lump in her throat and the ache of overwhelming, crippling hope in her chest. She stumbles over to the door, clutching the phone weakly. She hesitates, just long enough to draw in a few ragged breaths. She thinks, _Open the damn door,_ _Laurel._ She touches the cool doorknob and thinks of the cold, lonely feeling of being _without._

She opens the door.

The phone clatters noisily to the ground and she gasps, hands coming up to cover her mouth. Her vision blurs and she moves back on instinct, away from him, warmth flooding through her entire body.

Dean says, with a jaw clench and a crooked grin, ''Hi.''

.

.

.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week: I will finally be getting the second part of the relationship tag up. It's actually ready, but it was more important for me to do a Jayverse as the first UW of 2014. 
> 
> (Plus, it was an excuse for me to do an Outsider POV fic because not only is it my favourite genre - for some reason - but I am starting work on a Dean/Laurel longfic that will be posted outside of the UW collection and is told almost entirely from Thea's POV. Shameless plus there.)
> 
> Also, I am now accepting prompts for this collection! So. That's a new thing I'm trying out.
> 
> And one last thing: This particular UW is completely unedited, so I apologize for any typos or spelling errors.


	8. Underdogs Wednesdays #8: Relationship Tag#1 (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the shortness. It seemed longer when I was writing this.
> 
> Happy Arrow day! I am unusually excited about Arrow. Usually, the only things I feel for Arrow are mild nausea, thinly veiled contempt and grudging loyalty. But I am cautiously excited for this Laurel arc and from next week's promo, it looks like she is going to be KICKING ASS! I am ready for this!
> 
> Oh. By the way: If you haven't accepted Laurel Lance as your Queen and savior? You better get on that right away.
> 
> Suggested Listening: The Great Divide by The Mowgli's | Modern Love by David Bowie | Killian's Red by Nada Surf | Machinery by The Naked and Famous (I've decided this is a theme for both characters and their treatment in canon and fanon).

**/viii/**

.

.

.

**what they do for each other on holidays:**

Nothing special, really. They celebrate holidays, they do - she bakes something special for each holiday, he puts up lights at Christmas, they pick out a tree, they go to Charlie and Felicity's Halloween party every year, they go out to dinner and a movie on Valentine's Day, they attend Sam's Fourth of July barbeque, occasionally they'll even attend a New Year's Eve bash (although they prefer to spend New Year's Eve alone together and away from all the booze that NYE brings), and they even host Thanksgiving every other year - but they don't usually do anything incredibly special. For a lot of reasons. They're always incredibly busy, if not with work then with being all superhero-y, so they never really have time to plan anything big. And aside from that...

Well, they're not huge holiday people in general. Charlie starts putting up her Christmas decorations on the first of November and starts playing Christmas music daily in the Black Canary headquarters, Felicity is obsessed with Halloween, and Cas has taken a real shine to Thanksgiving, but Dean and Laurel... They're just not those people. Holidays bring a certain sense of melancholy and bitterness hidden behind the guise of family and love and cheer. Holidays just reminds them of the people they have lost. The people who should be here, but aren't.

However, with that said, there are times when they choose to fake it till they make it. For the year that Sin lived with them, they tried their damndest to make every holiday special. They brought out the holiday cheer big time and for that one year, every holiday was so over the top that Sin actually had to ask them to take it down a notch because their ugly Christmas sweaters were embarrassing her.

Once they have kids, they do manage to find a happy in between, in which they are able to give their kids great holidays and great memories, but they don't go completely overboard. (Except for when their kids are teenagers. Then they break out the ugly Christmas sweaters just to mess with them. It's their right as parents, after all.)

.

.

.

**where did they go for their honeymoon:**

They didn't.

They had a lovely wedding in the courthouse. She wore blue. He didn't wear a tie. Her parents were there, Sin was there, Sam, Cas and Charlie were there. It was nice. And they had _planned_ to take a week off and hole themselves up in a hotel room in Seattle, courtesy of Queen Consolidated because Oliver _so_ owed her after what she did for him during what is now referred to as The Falafel Incident (not actually anything vigilante related, just a bad case of food poisoning at an embarrassing time), but unfortunately, that did not work out. That did not work out at all. They had their bags all packed. They were ready to go. They were super excited for a week off.

But then, _naturally_ , Malcolm Merlyn decided to reveal his shocking not dead-ness to the entire city and it became an all hands on deck sort of situation, so the honeymoon was scrapped. For the greater good. Stupid greater good. Moira had made Oliver book a room at the _Four Seasons._ It was terrific incentive for Black Canary to rip Malcolm's face off, but seriously. Why couldn't he have waited just one more week? Their anger and frustration over their wasted honeymoon only intensified once Dean was laid up with a broken leg and Laurel was recovering from a nasty concussion that had her father sleeping on the couch at their place every night for a week because he was so scared he would lose her.

Eventually, though, they got over it and went on with their regular life. They got to spend some time alone while they were recovering from their injuries, that's enough, right? There are more important things than honeymoons.

Three years later, on their third anniversary, they were called to an emergency meeting at the clock tower. _Emergency at the base, we need you here ASAP, hurry_ , turns out to be code for, _hey, we're forcing you on a very, very belated honeymoon, don't worry, we've got everything under control, if Black Canary is needed, Sin is totally ready to put on the wig._

Long story short, after her father threatened to arrest them both if they didn't _take a goddamn break_ , they went to Maui for their honeymoon, where Dean spent the entire time grumbling because _I freckle, Laurel_ , and Laurel spent the whole time not giving a fuck about his whining because she was in _Maui._

(And that's where their daughter was conceived also. Because, you know. Maui. It's a magical place. It's no Tahiti, but it's pretty darn awesome.)

.

.

.

**where did they first meet:**

Technically, the first time they met was in downtown Starling City, outside of a coffee shop, when they ran into each other. Literally. She was heading inside, digging around in her huge, bottomless purse for her wallet; he was just leaving, holding a hot coffee and looking over his shoulder. Neither of them was paying attention. And boom. He got a chest full of hot coffee and the contents of her purse went everywhere. It wasn't as clichéd as it sounds. They both had other things to do - she was late for work, he was working a case - and they didn't really have time for romantic comedy-like cute meets. He helped her pick up her things, she bought him another coffee, and then they went their separate ways. Honestly, they didn't even remember each other when they eventually ran into each other again.

(This is a lie. Let's be real, folks. When he bent down to pick up a lipstick that had fallen out of her purse and was in the process of escaping, she...admired the view. Because she has eyeballs. And he watched her walk away. For a long time. Because he also has eyeballs.)

Their real first meeting was when she was mugged late one night in The Glades and he saved her. The first thing she did after he had subdued the attacker and called the police was critique his right hook. The second thing she did was inform him, very plainly, arms crossed, nose in the air, that she didn't need to be saved because she was handling it. And he was completely entranced.

He didn't stand a chance, really.

.

.

.

**any pets:**

When they're on their own? No. No time.

When they have kids? Yes. Their kids make them get a puppy. She is this tiny yappy white fluffball who has absotively, posolutely zero social skills, quite clearly thinks she's better than everyone, and likes to be carried like a baby. She quickly becomes the kids' new best friend and she is spoiled rotten. Even Laurel, who was more hesitant about getting a dog than Dean, takes a shine to the dog and treats her like a freaking princess. Dean is adamant that he hates the noisy little thing. She's annoying, she's spoiled, she's loud, she's judgmental (yeah, that's right - the damn dog is judgmental) and she has accidents everywhere, okay? He is _adamant._ He doesn't like the dog.

People mostly believe him.

Until Laurel catches them taking a nap together one day, snaps a picture of them all cuddly and sends it to the entire family.

Dean pretty much drops all pretenses of hatred after that and starts giving Piper scraps from the table.

.

.

.

**what do they fight over:**

Mutual recklessness and overprotectiveness. Hands down.

OH!

Actually, no. You know what they fight over more? Dean leaves the cap off the toothpaste and Laurel kicks in her sleep. These are the things that have caused some truly massive blow ups in their relationship.

Yeah, honestly, they work through the serious things quite well. They communicate. They talk. It's part of being in an adult relationship. They don't like leaving things unsaid because they don't want to fuck this up and they hate going to bed angry, so they deal with the serious issues and they learn to compromise. But when it comes to the toothpaste and the kicking? Watch out. One time, when she was pregnant, she got so angry with him because of the toothpaste thing that she threw not only the tube of toothpaste at his head, but also a bottle of mouthwash and a roll of toilet paper. Another time, before they were married, when they were still living in a rented apartment in the city, they got into a screaming match in the middle of the night and the landlord threatened to evict them. Both of these incidents resulted in make-up sex, but still. Toothpaste and Restless Leg Syndrome. That's what they fight about.

.

.

.

**do they go on vacations, if so where:**

You think they have time for vacations?

_Please._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Piper is real. She's my girl, she really does think she's better than everyone, and she does like to be carried like a baby. Most dogs hate being carried like a baby, but she refuses to be held if you're not going to put her on your hip like a baby and let her wrap one paw around your neck. It's adorable. But also a little disturbing. Because I don't think she realizes she's a dog. And I genuinely fear she may try to take over the world one day.
> 
> Next Week: An uber fluffy Jayverse so sweet it will give you cavities because I have a feeling we're going to need that. And the week after that will be a prompt fill.
> 
> (Speaking of prompts: this collection is still open for prompts if you have any.)
> 
> Also: http://popwatch.ew.com/2014/01/14/popwatch-matchmaker-dean-winchester-laurel-lance/
> 
> That is an article about the pairing of Dean Winchester/Laurel Lance. I'm still shocked that this is an actual thing that exists.


	9. Underdogs Wednesdays #9: Meta #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, guys.
> 
> There is no new UW tonight.
> 
> I am just...not well. I'm not in a great headspace (although Arrow helped a little because OH MY GOD, KATIE CASSIDY ACTED CIRCLES AROUND LITERALLY EVERYONE AND ALSO IF YOU HAVEN'T ACCEPTED HER AS YOUR QUEEN, THIS EPISODE PROVED WHY YOU SHOULD) and physically I am not good at all (I'll recover, it's nothing serious, I'll be fine, just one of those things) so...
> 
> Instead, I'm just going to post a cleaned up version of a meta that I posted on tumblr awhile back. And I might be able to do a make up UW on the weekend, but please don't hold me to that.

**/ix/**

.

.

.

**Of Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance**

.

.

.

So, it's obvious that I ship Dean Winchester/Laurel Lance, right?

Because I do.

I ship them more than I ship any of the canon pairings on Arrow (I tried to do Oliver/Laurel but I just can't get over what he did to her and I think she deserves better and I tried to do Oliver/Felicity but their fandom turned me off right quick - I did love Tommy/Laurel to death though, even if I had some problems with their relationship towards the end of the season). I find it interesting how incredibly similar Dean and Laurel are. They're both dealing with a lot of the same things. Misplaced anger, misplaced guilt, grief, substance abuse issues, they’re both tough with hearts of gold, they’re both totally gooey softies on the inside, they’re both good with kids, they both love with their whole hearts, and they can both take you down in probably a matter of minutes. The list goes on. I think it’s endlessly fascinating. How alike they are. It’s why they are my new favourite ship. It’s why I expect them to dominate 2014 in fanfic for me. It’s why I’m currently writing this giant meta about parallels between the two characters. It’s why this collection exists and why I am planning a full length Dean/Laurel for sometime in the Spring.

And yet…

…He is widely loved and fawned over while Laurel is called a ”bitch” and a ”whiner.” Now, I’m not saying it’s because he’s a hot guy and she’s a woman, but… I mean… You know… Yeah, it’s probably because he’s a hot guy and she’s a woman. Also, he’s not in the way of the fandom’s most popular ship. So. There’s that.

I am in no way pretending that Dean Winchester doesn’t get his fair share of really gross hate, because he does. Who can forget that one infamous meta that called him a parasite? Not to mention ever since season nine started, people have been spewing disgusting hatred. And there will always be ignorant people who know nothing about mental illness and substance abuse, but that’s not specific to his character and is, most unfortunately, just the world we live in. And yep, his character is repeatedly shafted. He hasn’t had a decent storyline that doesn’t revolve around his brother or hasn’t been dropped in years.

But none of that even comes remotely close to the absolutely disgustingly inappropriate hate that is spewed at both Laurel Lance and Katie Cassidy on a daily basis because… Because why? What exactly is the reasoning behind their hate? That she’s dealing with trauma realistically? How dare she! How dare she act like a human being on a show about human beings! Is it because Katie lost weight? NOOO! WHAT A TERRIBLE PERSON! SHE SHOULD BE FLAYED ALIVE! WOMEN SHOULD LOOK THE WAY WE WANT THEM TO LOOK! Because come on, that's why these people hate on Katie's looks and go on and on about how her face is distracting (I don't even know what the fuck with that one, to be honest). Is it because of the substance abuse? Oh, no. You know what? I get that one. She deserves that. Because she is the first person ever to deal with trauma by abusing drugs and alcohol. Nobody has ever done that before. It’s completely unrealistic. …Said the sheltered people who don’t watch the news. Or live in the world.

Even the most vicious of Dean haters don’t cross over into flinging their shit at Jensen Ackles. (I mean, okay, yeah, there’s that one vile individual who seems to be on a one person crusade to convince the internet that he’s homophobic even though there’s literally no proof nor has there ever been any sort of indication that he is other than the fact that he's from Texas, which is apparently why this person thinks he's homophic?) And yet Katie gets it daily. Please explain to me why some Olicity fans have somehow reached Belieber levels of delusion. Are they somehow unaware that Katie and Laurel are not actually the same person. (If so, I’m very sorry. I take back my anger and replace it with my pity.)

No, seriously, there is no good reason to hate Laurel Lance. You don’t hate someone because they’re _broken._

All of these people saying that she’s a ”bitch” or a ”whiner” or a ”whiny bitch” or that she’s ”ruining the show” or who have taken to bullying (because that’s what it is - it’s straight up  _bullying_ ) on social media, calling her names, starting rumors that she’s pregnant, saying she’s too fat, too skinny, a bad actress; all of those people who say that they don’t care about Laurel’s trauma or that they ”hope she takes all those pills and dies”… Well, I genuinely hope that those people have some tact in real life because if that’s how they act around fictional people going through fictional trauma, I can’t imagine they’d be very pleasant or comforting to a real person going through real trauma.

So. Here’s my question: Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance are dangerously close to being the same fucking character. Why is it okay for him to react emotionally, but not for her? Why he is praised for it, and she is mocked for it? Explain that one away, Arrow fandom.

tl;dr: You better check yourselves before you wreck yourselves, Arrow fandom. You’re looking real assholish right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: I apologize for nothing new. I know that the majority of people who read this have probably already seen this, but... You know... Life. It can, on occasion, suck.
> 
> Next week I will return to regularly scheduled programming!


	10. Underdogs Wednesdays #10: Full Length Fic Sneak Peek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> Here we are again. Another week of no new UW because I am under the weather. Because the universe hates me, apparently. I recovered from last week's ailment (okay, full disclosure: it was ~lady stuff~) only to be knocked flat on my ass by a nasty head cold. In hindsight, I probably should have seen it coming because it's been going around and I think it might be one of those 'you can run but you can't hide behind that hand sanitizer' things. Basically, I've just been clicking the reblog button on tumblr and marathoning Supernatural and Fringe. I haven't even been able to think about concentrating on writing.
> 
> LUCKILY!
> 
> I have been waiting to post a preview of my upcoming full length Dean/Laurel fic for a couple of weeks now. I probably won't be posting it until the spring (shooting for April 15th but it might be longer because I will, inevitably, want to perfect it) so I wasn't going to post this for a while, but since I have nothing else for tonight - TA DA!

**/x/**

.

.

.

_You Are a Hurricane (COMING SOON!)_

**Unofficial Summary:** This is a Black Canary Origin story, yo. Also, Birds of Prey. Straight up.

**Official Summary:** Laurel Lance does not become a superhero for a man. She does not do it because she is forced to go through her very own 'crucible.' She does it for a girl. You know all those stories about the mothers who can suddenly lift cars off if their children? Yeah, Laurel is that mom. Times ten. Rewrite of season one of Arrow and season eight of Supernatural. Title taken from the poem ''Mouthful of Forevers'' by Clementine von Radics, a poem which I have dubbed THE Dean/Laurel poem.

.

.

.

As a woman living alone in the city, Laurel has a right to protect herself and her home.

She is alone, in the dark, on a stormy night, and she was involved in a prison riot less than a week ago, so when she hears the telltale sound of someone trying to pick the lock on her front door while she's folding laundry in the bedroom, she is understandably put on edge and she reacts accordingly. Instead of running away from the noise and calling 911, or maybe her father, Laurel runs _towards_ the noise. She skids to a halt by her door just as the intruder on the other side is beginning to crack it open and there is a surge of unbelievably overwhelming anger and adrenaline that flows through her veins. She lurches forward as soon as she sees a hand appear and she throws all of her weight onto the door, slamming it into the intruder's face and quite possibly breaking a couple fingers.

The intruder shouts in pain and she hears an audible thud, followed by a painfully familiar, ''Son of a bitch!''

Laurel's heart sinks into her stomach and her entire body goes numb for a prolonged moment, torn between frustration and disbelief, and then her brain kicks in. ''Oh, god,'' she grasps the doorknob and throws open the door with wide eyes, and yep. There he is.

Dean Winchester.

Bleeding heavily on the ground, dazed and cradling his hand. To be honest, yes. There is a part of her that always knew he would come back into her life and complicate it at some point. He left her life so abruptly. Just a phone call telling her he was moving in on Dick Roman. When he never contacted her again, she had... She had grieved for him. She had cried for him. For Sam. For a year, she went through life trying not to think about the fact that he was probably dead, telling herself that he was still out there, saving people, hunting things. For over a year, some part of her has been waiting for him to call and ask her to bail him out of jail, or show up drunk and injured and in need of help, or even just a booty call. To be even more honest, there's a part of her that's been waiting to call him for a booty call. They've never been great at ending whatever it was that they had. They're backsliders. It's what they do. She _had_ been expecting to see him one day, but she had not at all expected their inevitable reunion to go like this.

''Laur,'' he splutters, blood running from his nose into his mouth. ''What the hell?''

She doesn't react to the nickname - the one that only he has ever called her; the one that only he is ever allowed to call her - but she does react to the blood. ''Oh my god,'' she drops to her knees beside him. ''Oh my god, you _idiot_ ,'' she hisses. ''Are you okay?'' She grabs his face in her hands, despite his protesting, to inspect his nose, and once she deduces that his nose is not broken and neither are his fingers, she shoves at his shoulder. ''What were you thinking? Why would you break into my apartment?''

''I wasn't breaking in,'' he snaps, still trying to stem the bleeding. ''I have a key. It's only eight. And it's Wednesday,'' he licks blood off his upper lip and wipes what's on his hand on his shirt. ''I thought you would still be at work. That's what you _do._ ''

A quiet whimper draws Laurel's attention away from Dean and she lifts her eyes, finally, to Sam. Sam looks fine. His hair is a little longer, his body a little leaner, but his soft smile is still sweet and the plaid is still the same. It's the girl that's different. Behind Sam, poking out from behind one of his long legs, a little girl in a pink dress is staring at Dean in terror.

...No, I'm sorry, let me repeat that: A _little girl_ in a pink dress is hanging out with the two very large men who are kind of, sort of _serial killers._

Her eyes are wide, she's shaking terribly, and she looks about a minute away from a full blown meltdown. She looks scared. She looks _wild._ And then, when Dean turns his attention to her and she gets a good look at the blood on his face, her entire face crumbles and Laurel watches in mute horror as her wild eyes shift and turn red in a way that humans' eyes _don't_ and she lets out this snarl that is half adorable and half legitimately frightening. Dean's on his feet in a second, hand locking around Laurel's wrist and pulling her up and behind him. He doesn't say anything to the girl, just looks at her very carefully, one hand still keeping Laurel behind him.

And then the littlest monster bursts into tears, burying her face in Sam's pant leg as she lets out loud, gulping sobs.

Dean's reaction is instant. His movements are fluid, like they've been practiced. He's at her side instantly, scooping her up into his arms and letting her cling to him desperately, arms wound around her tiny body protectively. ''It's okay,'' he's quick to say to the trembling girl. ''I'm okay, monkey, everything's fine. She didn't mean to hurt me. She's one of the good guys, okay? She's the best.'' He smiles at her with bloodied teeth and brushes her tears away with the pad of his thumb. ''I promise. Daddy's right here, Emma. Daddy's gotcha.''

Laurel clutches at the doorframe, half afraid she's going to fall over in shock. She can't help but gape at the sight before her: Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, righteous man, perpetually unattached drunk, holding a toddler on his hip and cooing at her like she's the eighth wonder of the world. A child. Dean has a child. Dean has a child who is, quite noticeably, less than human. Laurel honestly has no idea how to process this. Oliver Queen's miraculous return to the land of the living was easier to comprehend. The hooded guy in green leather who runs around shooting people full of _arrows_ makes more sense than this.

Dean looks up at her again and she meets his eyes. He looks apologetic, either for the botched break in or for springing this on her without even a call, but more than that, he looks desperate. He looks so far past desperate. She has never seen that look in his eyes before, and she has seen him at his lowest.

''I need your help,'' he says.

She presses her lips together.

Of course he does.

.

.

.

The girl's name is Emma, and yes, she is, in fact, Dean Winchester's less than one hundred percent human daughter.

This is irony at its finest.

Emma Winchester is a beautiful girl. Laurel is struck by that the moment she sees her. Emma is this tiny slip of a thing, a small, skinny toddler completely dwarfed by Dean and Sam and their obnoxious tallness, and yet she has them both wrapped around her finger. This is far more adorable than Laurel cares to admit. And she looks like her dad. This is an unavoidable truth. Dean is in every inch of Emma - from her wide eyes to her pink lips to the curve of her nose - and sure, there are bits of someone else mixed in as well - in the very light, fine strawberry blonde hair and the cheekbones - but mostly, she is her daddy's girl.

Considering how close she came to having this life with this man, Laurel doesn't know how to pretend that this doesn't sting just a little. But she does it anyway, and she does it with a smile. She's good at that. She can hide anything with a particularly brilliant smile. She lets the Winchesters into her home, because she was never not going to let them in, and she gets Dean a wet cloth and an ice pack for his nose. This is what she does. This is who she is. She helps the helpless. She does it because she _can._ Because it's the right thing to do. Despite the fact that they are by far the two most dangerous men she knows, something about the Winchester brothers have always fit this criteria.

''Em,'' Dean says, while Laurel is perched on her coffee table, gently wiping the blood away. ''This is Laurel. From the bedtime stories.''

Laurel arches an eyebrow.

''She's the best person I know,'' he says quietly, and maybe he's not talking to Emma anymore.

''She's a superhero,'' Sam adds on, and winks when Laurel turns to throw him a look.

She looks in between them for a brief second, positive that all of these compliments mean that whatever favor they are about to ask of her is a doozy, and then she turns her attention to Emma. She offers the girl a delicate sort of smile and says, ''Hi, Emma. I like your pretty dress.''

Emma's only response to that is to curl into her father's side and bury her face in his shirt, making a small noise of discontent. ''She's, uh...'' Dean clears his throat. ''She's shy.''

''Oh, well, that's okay,'' Laurel's smile never slips. ''I used to be shy too.'' She winks at Emma and then swaps out the warm wet cloth for an ice pack, pressing it against Dean's nose. She winces when he winces and when his hand comes up to take the ice pack, his fingers brush hers and - electricity. One million watts of it.

_Still._

How... _annoying._

.

.

.

It's hard to explain her relationship with Dean. Laurel is no stranger to complicated relationships with bad boys. This is a slightly embarrassing fact about her taste in men. There was Oliver and their on and off tangle of a relationship and then there was her best friends with benefits situation with Tommy that was really just a distraction from missing Dean for her and a distraction from his deepening crush on Joanna for him, which came out of nowhere and shocked everyone, but no one more than Tommy. Complicated, messy relationships... She knows them all too well.

But this thing with Dean is in a league of its own.

.

.

.

**and that's all you get (and yep, I'm doing Tommy/Joanna)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Week (if the world doesn't knock me down again): I don't even know. It's either going to be a prompt fill in which Laurel meets Cas (going for humor with that one, I think) or a super angsty somewhat fix-it fic for tonight's episode in which Oliver calls someone else instead of Sara (spoiler alert: Dean, he calls Dean) and things don't end the way Oliver was probably hoping they would.


	11. Underdogs Wednesdays #11: A Gooey Romantic Marshmallow Dean Fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um.
> 
> This was supposed to be a short little not!fic based off of this ImagineyourOTP scenario: Imagine Person A of your OTP taking Person B's phone. Person B finds it a few hours later and opens it to see hundreds of cute selfies and videos Person A left.
> 
> Instead, this has very little to do with that scenario and wound up being another 'Dean Winchester Finds A Home' fic with side helpings of Dean/Laurel & Sin family fluffy and established Birds of Prey. I don't know how any of this happened, but I am oddly happy with this mini fic.
> 
> Also, IMPORTANT NOTE: Some things in my life have shifted (not in a bad way or anything, just in a 'things are busy' kind of way) so I'm going to have to change the posting schedule of this collection.
> 
> Starting right now, I will be posting a new UW every OTHER week instead of every week. Hope that's okay! :)

**/xi/**

.

.

.

Hey. Hey, guess what?

_Guess what?_

Long distance relationships suck, that's what.

.

.

.

Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance make one frighteningly badass team.

This is a fact that has been acknowledged numerous times and yes, they do love heroism and theatrics, but without a doubt, their favourite moments together have nothing to do with Black Canary and her occasional sidekick (the Starling City press are pretty confident that her male sidekick is her lover) jumping rooftops and slaying dragons. Their favourite moments are here, at home, on the couch, in the bedroom, in the kitchen, just the two of them. (Well, sometimes the two of them and Sin. She does live with them, after all.) They love quietly domestic days, ones where she redecorates the living room and drags Dean and Sin out to the furniture stores, ones where there is a pot roast in the oven that nobody but Dean is allowed to touch. Days like those are relaxing. Peaceful.

Today has not been one of those days.

It would have been, if it weren't for the fact that Dean's impending departure kind of overshadowed the peacefulness and turned them both into grumpy curmudgeons. Don't get her wrong, Laurel completely understands why he has to leave. Benny called him from New Orleans asking for help with a nest of vampires that was trying to make him their king. So, yes, she totally understands that he needs to help his friend. It's just...depressing. He just got back. He was gone for a _month_ on his last urgent business trip, working back to back cases with Sam (Charlie had a siren neighbor, a soccer mom had turned to witchcraft in order for her son's team to win every game, a brand new Alpha werewolf was running around biting a bunch of teenagers in some small town in Northern California, Cas was kidnapped by elves who, as it turned out, just wanted to play with him, and then there was that thing with the demonic cult out at Princeton that Kevin had called them about) and he's only been back for two weeks.

Laurel does her best not to complain. She doesn't feel she has any right to. Amelia, who is pregnant, has every right to complain. Sam, who is missing out on ultrasounds and midnight craving runs, has every right to complain. Dean and Laurel have no children (unless you count Sin, who is not really a child anymore and is going to college and everything), no pets, and lives outside of each other. They're the ideal type of couple to make this kind of relationship work.

Except...

Honestly?

They hate this. They hate this so much. She pastes a smile on her face when they Skype and he feigns calmness during phone calls, but neither of them is particularly happy with this arrangement. He wants to be here. He wants to be present. He doesn't want to feel like he's failing at being in a relationship - again - and he tells her this. She, selfishly, wants him to be here all the time. She wants him to be a full time significant other. She wants to see him every day, to wake up with him, to go to sleep with him. They want to be _together._

But they have responsibilities and family outside of each other, and so if there's a deeply offended nest of vampires after Benny because the dude refused to be their king then he's going to go and help him.

.

.

.

On Sunday evening, while Dean is making dinner and Laurel has just heaved a laundry basket full of clean clothes onto the bed, she spots Dean's phone on top of the drawer. She only hesitates for a second before she snatches it up and shuts the door.

.

.

.

Monday morning is beyond hectic.

Their alarm clock doesn't go off, which results in panicking, and he winds up hopping in the shower with her to save time and water, which does not work because they just wind up doing things that they really don't have time to do.

After that, it's a frantic rush to get out the door. Dean ends up running out the door, tossing his bag haphazardly in the backseat and speeding off to go pick up Sin from Thea and Roy's place to take her to class before he heads out of town, and Laurel leaves the house with wet hair and no makeup and her coffee in a travel mug to go meet Sara and Helena at the office. She kisses him hard on the lips before he leaves with an ''I love you, be careful,'' and he drops a rushed kiss to the top of her head and calls out a, ''I'll be home as soon as I can and I'll call you tonight.''

And that's basically their relationship in a nutshell.

There is more shower sex and _leaving_ than there is _coming home._

.

.

.

It's not until he's a couple hours out of town that Dean discovers his phone.

He's at a gas station, filling up the Impala, waiting for his coffee to kick in, when he gets a phone call from Sin, who is damn near hysterical. He barely even gets a greeting of, ''Hey, kiddo, what's up?'' out before she launches into a minor panic attack.

_''Oh my god, Dean. Dean, holy crap, please tell me that I left my blue bag in your car.''_

Dean wrenches open the driver's side door and does a quick but thorough check, but spots no bag. ''Nope. Sorry, kid.''

_''Son of a crapbag, I left it at Thea and Roy's place. Damn it. That had my paper in it! I spent three hours on that last night! I'm going to FLUNK OUT OF COLLEGE!''_

''Whoa, shit,'' he grimaces and holds the phone away from his ear. ''Lower the volume.''

_''You should be upset,''_ she states. _''You and Laurel are paying for my higher education.''_

''Well, I know you're not going to flunk out.''

_''That paper - ''_

''Just call Roy or Thea. I'm sure one of them will run it over to you.''

_''They'll both be at work by now.''_

''Then,'' he checks his watch, wrinkles his nose and heaves a sigh. ''Call Oliver. He has a key to their place. When do you need it?''

_''Like, three minutes ago?''_

''Definitely call Oliver.''

_''Okay,''_ there's a pause and a rustling sound and then, _''hey, can we get a dog? I feel like we should have a dog. One that has to wear clothes in the winter. Those things are cute as shit.''_

He chuckles warmly, eyes crinkling. ''Higher education, sweetheart.''

_''Right. Thanks. So, also, don't die on your business trip, be home soon because I already miss your cooking, and say hi to Sam for me. Okay, gotta run, love you, byyye!''_

It's when he pulls the phone away from his ear, still laughing, that he notices it. The background on his phone has been changed from the default setting to a picture from Sin's 20th birthday party. In the picture, Sin is sandwiched in between Dean and Laurel. Laurel is smiling brightly but not looking at the camera and one of her hands is outstretched, the picture catching the moment she was carding her fingers through Dean's hair, and both Dean and Sin are laughing at something that was probably hysterical at the time, but now he can't even remember what it was. The picture is a little blurry, probably because Sara, who took the picture, had been laughing as well, but it has always been one of Laurel's favourites. A framed version is sitting on the mantel above the fireplace in their living room.

Dean's lip quirk upwards at the sight of the picture.

It is not the only thing on his phone that has changed. His phone is _filled_ with pictures of Laurel; selfies of her smiling, of her making faces. There are videos of her ordering him not to die and to be careful and bring Sin back a souvenir and to say hello to Sam for her. Every video ends the same. With her smiling softly, head tilted to the side and saying, ''I love you. Come home safe, okay?'' At the sight of them, at the sight of her smile and her eyes, there is a desperate kind of aching in his chest and all he wants to do is turn back and go home.

Luckily, there's a video for that. Because Laurel is secretly a mind reader.

''Don't freak out,'' she says. ''Don't turn around. Do what you need to do, Dean. Just come home when you can. We'll be waiting for you.''

So he keeps going.

.

.

.

The next stop he makes, he writes and re-writes seven different texts to her before settling on, _nice pictures._

A few minutes later, right before he hits the road again, he gets a response: _Just thought I'd remind you what you have to come home to. Wait until you get to the naked ones. ;)_

That's pretty much the moment he makes his decision.

.

.

.

Dean is gone for nine days this time and he comes home limping and with a black eye in the middle of the night, but he also comes home happy.

In the kitchen, the Birds of Prey are picking at Chinese food, all looking bleary and exhausted and irritable, and Sin is sitting cross legged on the island, eyes on her phone. He hesitates when he sees that his kitchen is full of vaguely frightening (and super protective) women, but powers through it. He has a plan. He's had a plan for nine days.

Laurel's face lights up when she sees him. ''Dean!'' Her voice is tired but cheerful and she's still wearing her leather, her frizzy hair telling him she's probably just taken the blonde wig off. But she looks flushed and happy, so something must have gone right with whatever they were doing tonight, and despite his initial reluctance at doing this in front of an audience, he can't help but feel that maybe this is actually the perfect audience. ''Hi, honey,'' Laurel greets him with a grin, standing up on her tip toes to kiss him. She's frowning when she pulls away, fingers reaching up to trace his black eye. ''Are you okay?''

Sin looks up from her phone. ''What happened to you?''

Sara shakes her head, lips pulled down into a concerned frown. ''Dean, did I see you limping?''

Helena asks, bluntly, ''Why is there no wine in this house?''

Sara and Sin both turn their attention to her and stare at her blankly. ''Because you're in the house of two recovering addicts,'' Sara reminds her.

''And I'm not twenty one for another three months,'' Sin adds.

Helena does not find this acceptable. ''Well, how am I supposed to decompress without wine?''

Laurel's focus, however, is only on Dean. ''Seriously,'' she lowers her voice and leans in close to him, fingers grasping at his jacket. ''Are you okay? You've got this weird look on your - ''

''I quit,'' he says.

Laurel's eyes widen and she takes a step back. ''You...quit? You quit what?''

''Hunting.''

''...Why?''

Dean licks his lips slowly and looks over at the other three. Sara and Sin both look away quickly, pretending they weren't watching, but Helena just smirks at him and takes a delicate bite out of her eggroll. He doesn't even care. ''Laurel,'' he murmurs, both hands moving to cup her face. He leans in, but doesn't kiss her. '' _Laur_.'' He rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. She places her warm hands flat against his chest like she's trying to anchor him. He sucks in a deep breath, reaches into his inside jacket pocket, and pulls out the small black box that has been weighing it down for the past week. He drops down onto one knee without a second of hesitation and opens the box.

''Oh my god,'' Laurel breathes out, both hands moving to cover her mouth.

Behind them, Sara gasps and drops her chopsticks, Helena's cocky smirk widens into a genuine smile, and Sin screeches out, ''OH MY GOD!'' She goes forward onto her knees to peer over the island at the ring, eyes widening. ''Duuude,'' she murmurs. Sara and Helena look at each other and seem to hesitate before practically vaulting over the counter to get a look at the ring.

''Oh my god,'' Laurel says again, choked and shaky, already smiling.

Dean doesn't give a speech. He doesn't feel that he needs to. There would never be enough words anyway. He just says, quietly, ''Marry me, pretty bird,'' and hopes that's enough.

It is.

Laurel laughs, this adorable little unsteady laugh and starts nodding her head vigorously. ''Okay,'' she whispers. ''I-I mean, not okay. I mean - Yes. Yes, I'll marry you.'' She laughs again, louder this time, and pulls him back up to his feet, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. ''Of course I'll marry you.''

He barely manages to get the ring on her finger and kiss her again before Sara actually _is_ vaulting over the counter and tackle-hugging her sister and Sin is launching herself off the counter and onto Dean like a spider monkey.

A good audience, indeed.

.

.

.

Hey. Hey, guess what?

_Guess what?_

Dean Winchester belongs in Starling City, that's what, and he is not going anywhere.

...I mean, unless Kevin gets kidnapped by another demonic cult.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next UW will be posted on Feb 19th and honestly, I have no idea what it will be. But I feel like maybe this collection could use some angst?
> 
> Also, holy crap ew @ the end of tonight's Arrow. This show just keeps getting worse and worse. I prefer my season one rewrite headcanon.


	12. Underdogs Wednesdays #12: 1-5/30 Prompt Drabbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY UNDERDOGS WEDNESDAY!
> 
> I apologize for the late-ness of this, but I hope that the fact that there is not one, not two, but FIVE ficlets here makes up for that.
> 
> So, this is basically what the next few installments will be. Five random prompt ''drabbles.'' I got the prompts off of a random prompt table and also, I use the word drabble loosely, because it is impossible for me to write any sort of fic using only 100 words. Even 200 is difficult.
> 
> Also, none of these drabbles are related to each other.
> 
> Suggested Listening: We Are Stars by The Pierces (which is what I listened to over and over again while writing these and it will be going onto my Birds of Prey fanmix that I am making).

**/xii/**

.

.

.

**(1)**

**Prompt:** _Evidence_  
 **Word Count:** 220

.

Detective Lance has no substantial evidence, and Dean knows this.

There are many charges that could be laid against him that would stick and probably send him to jail for a real long time, if not for the rest of his life. This is not one of those charges. Quentin doesn't have anything concrete, because there is nothing concrete. The idea that Dean Winchester could ever be that dumbass running around in green leather shooting people full of arrows is nothing short of absurd. Not because Dean isn't the vigilante type or anything (because he _so_ is) but because the idea of him ever wearing any sort of all leather outfit is ridiculous. Not to mention the bow and arrow thing is not and will never be his style. So, no. Despite the fact that he's handcuffed to a table, Dean isn't particularly worried about these charges.

This is why, when he sees her storming into the bullpen like a hurricane, hair billowing behind her, eyes lit up with righteous fury, Dean almost feels a little sorry for Quentin. He knows what it's like to be on the end of her wrath. It's kind of terrifying. But. Then again. Almost is the keyword.

Hey.

He was told he had one phone call.

Was he not supposed to call his lawyer?

.

.

.

**(2)**

**Prompt:** _Secret_  
 **Word Count:** 655  
 **Other Notes:** I really need to learn to accept that whenever I have Dean/Laurel + Sin in a scene together, it is not going to be _just a drabble._ Because I have ''feels'' apparently.

.

''So,'' Sin's voice is muffled around the double bacon cheeseburger in her mouth, ''there's a new vigilante in town.''

There's an exchange of odd, secretive looks between Dean and Laurel, which Sin takes to mean _yeah, we're kinda worried about it._ Of course, neither one of them would ever say that out loud, especially not in front of Sin, so instead, Laurel clears her throat and wraps her hands around her steaming mug of herbal tea, and Dean smiles, wide enough for eye crinkles, but not wide enough to be genuine. ''I wouldn't worry about it,'' he says, and takes a gulp of his coffee.

Sin stuffs a fist full of fries into her mouth and hums thoughtfully. ''Do you think he knows he's not the only vigilante in town?''

Dean chuckles into his coffee. ''I think he'll find out sooner or later.''

Laurel looks back down at the case file she has been studying for the past fifteen minutes, twirling the pen in her hand. ''Can we talk about something else?''

''Okay,'' Sin smiles pleasantly and downs her soda. ''How about Oliver Queen?'' The response to that is less than pleasant. She expected that. Dean narrows his eyes and angrily sips at his coffee, which is apparently something that he can do. Laurel freezes and slowly lifts her head, wide eyes meeting Sin's, probably because Laurel has done her best to shield Sin from everything Queen related and also because Sin has never actually said his name out loud to Laurel. He's pretty much been known as He Who Must Not Be Named in their household. Just the asshole who not only broke Laurel's heart but is also kind of the reason Sara's dead (not that Laurel has ever said that, but Quentin has). ''Tell me,'' Sin pushes her plate away from her and leans her elbows on the table. ''Does he know anything about your life now? Does he know you're married? Does he know you have me?''

''Why should he?'' Laurel asks tightly. ''My private life is private. It's none of his concern.''

''I'm, like, 73% sure he still wants you to have his billionaire playboy babies though, and _that_ could be a problem,'' Sin says, and throws a mildly concerned look in Dean's direction when he _growls._ ''Right? See? He agrees.'' When Laurel sighs tiredly, Sin throws her hands up in the air and leans back in her seat. ''Hey, I just don't want Dean to kill any rich guys, okay? I like Dean. He's grown on me. Like a fungus.''

''Well, thanks, kiddo,'' Dean chirps, and reaches forward to pat her on the head. ''I like you, too. I'd like you better if you didn't leave your clothes in random places all over my apartment, but still.''

'' _Your_ apartment? I'm sorry, are you forgetting I was there first?''

''I pay half the rent. My name is on the lease.''

Laurel laughs, although it's not as light as usual, and shakes her head. ''Don't worry about Oliver Queen, sweetie, and don't worry about the new vigilante. We have it covered. You just worry about passing history.''

''Besides,'' Dean booms, ''we have far more interesting problems to worry about.'' His voice drops down to a whisper and he leans in closer. ''Did your mother tell you that we're bugging Malcolm Merlyn? Because we're bugging Malcolm Merlyn.''

''Dean.'' Laurel lets out an exasperated, long suffering sigh. ''I wish you wouldn't tell her these things. She's sixteen.''

''Almost seventeen,'' Sin snaps back. ''And also, I already know you're bugging Malcolm Merlyn.'' When they both stare blankly at her, she shrugs and steals Dean's coffee, taking a dainty sip of it. ''What? I live with two superheroes, okay? I've learned things about getting information. You can't keep secrets from me.'' And then Laurel does that thing where she folds her arms and arches a single eyebrow - it's definitely a Mom thing - and Sin cracks. ''Okay, Charlie told me.''

.

.

.

**(3)**

**Prompt:** _Blood_  
 **Word Count:** 1,285  
 **Other Notes:** I...have more Laurel/Helena feelings than I thought I did?

.

It's exceedingly clear that approaching Laurel is not the safest thing to do right now.

Helena Bertinelli has never been good at doing the _safe_ things in life.

When she joins the group of terrified friends and family at Starling City General, her first instinct, after getting an update on Dean's condition (currently in surgery, has lost a lot of blood, the bullet went in through his back when he spun Laurel around to shield her and just missed his heart) and squeezing Sam's hand, is to get to Laurel. This instinct stopped surprising Helena a long time ago. Laurel is her family. She has been for years now. Laurel _saved_ her. She saved her in ways that Oliver never could. So, when she sees Laurel sitting by herself, away from everyone else, knees drawn up to her chest, wringing her bloodstained hands, Helena doesn't even stop to think about it. She marches right up to her, holds out her hand, and says, as softly as possible for Helena, ''Get up.''

Laurel, pale and trembling, still looking a little dazed, doesn't protest. Just slips her hand into Helena's and lets her pull her to her unsteady feet.

Over with Sam and Sara, Quentin looks endlessly relieved that Laurel has let someone in.

After she orders Sara to come and find them if there's any news on Dean, Helena leads Laurel into a nearby bathroom to clean her up. In the fluorescent light, Laurel looks even worse. There is a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, her tear tracked skin is so pale she's almost translucent, her hands are shaking terribly, and she is covered in blood. It's smeared on her cheeks from wiping away tears with her bloody hands, and it's staining the front of her white shirt.

None of the blood is hers.

It's...a disconcerting amount of blood for one person to lose. Helena presses her lips together. She doesn't say a word. She just turns on the hot water, gently slips off Laurel's wedding ring, and helps her scrub the blood off. Laurel lets her. She stands there and allows Helena to wash her hands for her, unmoving. Her eyes are empty. It's only when Helena is wiping the blood off her cheeks that she even speaks up, voice hoarse and barely audible. ''He told me I was worth it,'' she says, and her voice is completely hollow.

Helena doesn't falter. She dries off Laurel's hands. ''Dean?''

Laurel nods. ''Before the ambulance came. I asked him why he...'' She trails off and sways slightly, looking sick. ''He told me I was worth it.''

''Well,'' Helena clears her throat. ''You are.''

There are tears caught on Laurel's eyelashes. It's pretty clear, just from the look in her eyes, that she doesn't agree. She presses her lips together tightly, muffling a sob that is viciously trying to rip its way out. ''If he - ''

''He won't.''

''He's supposed to be it for me, Helena. You don't get another _it_.''

That's when she falters. There's an ache in her throat and a chasm in her heart where Michael used to be. ''I know.'' Neither one of them say anything for a long time. They let the silence stretch between them. Helena is eventually the one to break the silence, with the question that has been nagging at her for hours now, ''What happened, Laurel?''

She's expecting the answer to come in an incoherent sob. Instead, Laurel's eyes go dark - darker than Helena has ever seen them - and she says, in this low, dangerous snarl, ''Sebastian Blood escaped Iron Heights. And he came after me.''

A surge of burning anger flows through Helena and pools in her gut.

''I didn't see him, or the gun,'' Laurel says. ''Dean did.'' All of a sudden, it's like the air has been knocked out of her. ''He was aiming for me,'' she manages to get out, breaths coming in short pants.

''Oh.'' Helena grasps Laurel's arms. ''Hey. Hey, look at me,'' her hands move to Laurel's cheeks. ''This was not your fault.''

''He was aiming for me, Lena. He was after _me._ This was about _me._ How is this not my fault? This is - '' Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. ''This is Tommy,'' she chokes out. ''This is Tommy all over again.''

''No,'' Helena's fingers tighten around Laurel's arms. ''Laurel, no. Listen to me. Sebastian Blood is a fucking _freak_ , okay? That's not your fault. He was a freak long before you. You know as well as I do that he would have found someone else to fixate on.''

''He sent me letters.''

Helena's blood runs cold. ''...What?''

''Sebastian,'' Laurel clarifies. ''H-He sent me letters. He told me that I had taken everything away from him and that he was going to do the same to me.''

''You...You never told me that,'' Helena says, swallowing hard.

''I never told anyone that. Not even Dean.'' Her face crumples and her hollow, dead sounding voice turns into a distressed whimper. ''I didn't want to worry him. I didn't want to worry anyone.''

Helena lets out a breath and closes her eyes. Yeah, that sounds like Laurel. According to Laurel, everyone else comes before her. It's why she and Dean are so annoyingly, obnoxiously perfect for each other. ''We'll get him, Laurel,'' she says quietly. ''We'll take Sebastian down, I promise.''

Laurel meets her eyes. There's something in her eyes, a flicker, that Helena vaguely recognizes, but she can't quite place. It's like something she knew a long time ago. ''Right,'' she nods. ''We'll get him. The Birds will get him.'' She nods, almost mechanically, and drops her gaze down to the floor. ''We'll get him and we'll send him back to prison, where he'll get to live out the rest of his life alone.'' She breaks free of Helena's grasp and drifts back over to the sink, snatching up her wedding ring and slipping it back onto her finger. ''Even if Dean doesn't.'' Her hand clenches into a fist.

Helena takes a step towards her. ''Laurel - ''

''Lena,'' Laurel breathes out, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opens her eyes, she looks down at her shirt, where her husband's blood is staining the white red. ''Can you...?'' She clears her throat and shifts from foot to foot uncomfortably, crossing her arms over the blood. ''I need to get out of this shirt. Could you find me something else to wear? Please?''

Helena's gut is telling her that she shouldn't leave Laurel alone. But she's never been able to say no to Laurel Lance. So she says, ''Okay, I can do that,'' kisses Laurel on the side of the head, and goes to find her some new clothes.

.

Laurel is gone when she gets back.

Helena realizes, with a start, that the look in Laurel's eyes, the one she recognized, was _vengeance._

.

''Laurel's going to kill Sebastian Blood,'' she says, after she has dragged Oliver and Sara away from the rest of the group. ''Are either of you willing to let her become a killer?''

The answer to that question is, apparently, a resounding _no_ , because they're both racing towards the exit before she even finishes her sentence. Helena stays behind long enough to tell Quentin and Sam some stupid lie about taking Laurel home to change her clothes, and then she's gone. Oliver and Sara might be able to slow Laurel down, but she hopes they're not stupid enough to believe they will actually get through to her. There are very few people in this world who can get through to stubborn, strong-willed Laurel. One of them might not make it through surgery, one is on a red eye flight back to Starling City from her spring break in Mexico with Thea Queen and Roy Harper, and the other...

...is just really hoping she can get to Laurel before she puts a bullet through Sebastian Blood's eye.

.

.

.

**(4)**

**Prompt:** _Puppy love_  
 **Word Count** : 1,084

.

''How does it not bother you that our daughter is marrying Oliver Queen's son?''

Laurel sip at her coffee and doesn't even look up from the Sunday crossword. ''Probably because they're four years old, it's puppy love, and the minister is a giant teddy bear,'' she says smoothly, pushing up her glasses. ''Last week, she wanted to marry _you._ The week before that, she wanted to marry Joanna. At least she's found someone her own age.''

''Okay, A) I'm a catch. Who wouldn't want to marry me? And B) _No_ ,'' Dean stresses. ''No, see, this is different. She _blushes_ when she's around that...that...''

Laurel looks up. ''Yes?''

He struggles for the right word and eventually settles on, ''...Hooligan?''

Laurel lets out a breathy laugh and goes back to her crossword. ''You lovable old man, you,'' she murmurs, not unkindly, hand reaching up to scratch at the back of Dean's neck. ''She also blushes whenever she's around Cas. Are you worried about that?''

Dean slumps in his chair and crosses his arms. ''Why is she so obsessed with marriage anyway? Marriage - ''

She sends him a warning look.

'' - Is wonderful and I love you, but she's too young.''

''Hey, you're the one who let her watch The Princess Bride.''

''Well, I regret it. Why do we even let her hang out with that kid?''

''Uh, we kind of have to,'' Laurel says, ''They're sort of related. Oliver and I are step-siblings now - ''

''Which is still the weirdest thing that has ever happened. Weirder than that one time Sam was a car and weirder than leather clad superheroes.''

'' - Which makes them step-cousins, and even if they weren't, Helena is my best friend and one of my business partners, and she's married to Oliver, so we're stuck with him.''

Dean's response to this is, naturally, to pout. Because he spends way too much time around four year olds.

''Why is there a Winchester pouting in my kitchen?'' Oliver's voice asks, as he jogs into the kitchen, out of breath, sweat drenched shirt clinging to his chest. ''Also, good morning,'' he greets Laurel warmly, and with a kiss to the top of her head, but gives Dean a wide berth, which is definitely a wise choice. ''When did you get here?''

''About half an hour ago,'' Laurel's eyes are still on the crossword. ''We're here to greet the honeymooners. My _two_ children,'' she looks pointedly at Dean, ''firmly believe that Thea is going to bring them back something from Cuba.''

''Why wouldn't she?'' Dean asks. ''Thea loves me. She laughs at my jokes. Nobody laughs at my jokes.''

Oliver, head buried in the fridge, comes out with a mountain of Tupperware containers and chocolate frosting already smeared on the side of his face from leftover chocolate torte. ''There's a reason for that.''

''Does that not negate the morning jog, Oliver?'' Laurel asks.

He shrugs. ''Helena's pregnant. I'm sympathy eating.''

Dean says, ''That's not a thing.''

Oliver says, ''Nobody asked you.''

''You could cut the sexual tension with a knife,'' Laurel quips, and takes another sip of coffee, smiling innocently when they both look at her in horror.

''So, Queen,'' Dean rises to his feet. ''Are you aware of what's happening in the living room?''

''Is it a circus? I love the circus.'' When he catches sight of the way Dean and Laurel are looking at him, he adds on, ''On my fifth birthday, I woke up and there was a circus in my living room.''

''Fucking rich people,'' Dean grumbles in disgust. ''No, there's no circus, you privileged ass. Our kids are getting married.''

Oliver freezes with a forkful of torte halfway to his mouth. ''...Excuse me?''

''Mmmhmm.''

''No.''

''Yep.''

''Nooo.''

''It's happening. They made wedding rings out of drinking straws.''

''Well,'' Oliver abandons his food and shakes his head, looking very confused and very unhappy. ''Why did nobody stop them? Have they gotten to the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' part? Because I object. Trust me, Queen and Winchester genes are not meant to mingle.''

''Who the fuck said anything about genes mingling, you pervert? They're four years old.''

''Oh my god,'' Laurel sighs, and goes back to her crossword.

''HEY!''

All three of them jump at the sound of the shout. Even Laurel, who usually doesn't startle at loud noises, considering she's usually the one making them. Helena is standing in the doorway, wearing a deep purple silk gown more suited for a gala rather than a lazy Sunday morning. She's got her hands on her hips and she looks not at all happy. She looks rather pissed, actually. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are narrowed. She looks like one angry pregnant woman.

''Helena,'' Dean greets. ''You're looking positively murderous today. It's a great look on you. Makes you look...younger.'' She snaps her gaze to him. ''Not that you need to look younger,'' he tacks on hastily.

Oliver meekly holds out his abandoned forkful of gooey chocolate-y goodness. ''Torte?'' She tilts her head to the side and glares. ''It's chocolate.'' Nothing. ''I love you?'' Still nothing. ''You look really beautiful today. Did I mention that yet?''

All she says, when she finally opens her mouth to speak, is, ''What the fuck?''

Dean and Oliver look at each other.

''Uh,'' Laurel reluctantly discards her crossword puzzle. ''What's up, honey?''

''Our children are getting married,'' Helena says, speaking slowly, as if talking to a very small child. ''It's kind of a big deal. Sara put flowers in her hair. John arranged all of the stuffed animals. Sam and Felicity made a mix CD. A MIX CD! And you lazy motherfuckers are sitting here eating cake?''

''It's actually torte,'' Oliver tries.

Helena's lip curls in disgust. ''Disappointed in you,'' she points at Oliver, ''disappointed in you,'' she points at Dean, '' _very_ disappointed in you, because these boys are idiots but I expected better from you,'' she points at Laurel, who flinches. ''Get your asses in gear.'' She spins on her heel to walk away, but changes her mind at the last minute, stalks over to Oliver, grabs him by the ear, and drags him, yelping, out of the room.

Dean turns to Laurel. ''Puppy love, huh?''

''It's still puppy love, Dean,'' she hisses, but grabs his arm and starts to lead him out of the kitchen. ''They're still four. It's a pretend wedding for fun. Calm down. It's not like they're going to end up together. Mark my words, our daughter is not going to marry a Queen.''

.

In hindsight, she probably jinxed them right there.

.

.

.

**(5)**

**Prompt:** _Fugitive_  
 **Word Count:** 314

.

Dean and Sam Winchester, the infamous, supposedly dead criminal mastermind brothers, seemingly permanent fixtures on America's Most Wanted, are arrested in Starling City, by Lieutenant Frank Pike outside of Laurel Lance's apartment building.

It's kind of big news. Pike is damn proud of himself, though less so when he has to slap some cuffs on Laurel for assaulting a police officer. He's known her since she was a little girl. He'd have to be a monster not to feel a little guilty for arresting her. Especially with Quentin right there. Before he puts the cuffs on her, she manages to push past him toward the older Winchester, lean up and kiss him on the lips.

He thinks it's a damn shame for such a good girl to take such a nasty fall from grace.

.

In the back of the squad car, Dean and Sam are having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

''Well,'' Sam huffs. ''I'm happy you and Laurel are back together, Dean, but riddle me this: _What the fuck are we supposed to do now_?''

Dean smiles at him.

''Oh, y-you're smiling? You're _smiling?''_ Sam lets out a bitter, incredulous laugh. ''Dean, we are going to jail. For life.''

Dean keeps smiling. ''Seriously, what the hell, man?''

Dean's mouth moves, and his lips part, just long enough for Sam to see the key caught between his teeth. They key to the handcuffs. Sam blinks. Then blinks again. ''Oh.'' He looks out the window, eyes on Laurel. Before she is led away to another squad car, while her father yells at Pike, she meets Sam's eyes and gives him a very pointed, _this is your_ _one chance, do not fuck this up_ look. ''Oh.'' He raises his eyebrows. ''She picked his pocket.'' His eyes widen in awe. ''She _picked._ His. _Pocket_.''

Around the key, Dean says, ''I know, right? She's awesome.''

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: #2 was once part of a larger story that was basically a rewrite of season one with established Black Canary, Dean and Laurel were married, Sin was Laurel's adoptive daughter and they basically did everything that Oliver was trying to do in half the amount of time (yes, including taking down Malcolm Merlyn) and also, nobody died. This is the reason why that one cut off so abruptly. Because I cheated and used something that already existed instead of writing a new one.
> 
> And yes, I did accidentally Moira/Quentin in #4. No idea where that came from. But it made me laugh.
> 
> Next UW will be March 5th and will be 6-10/15 drabble prompts. Oooh, and if you have any random one word prompts, lay 'em on me. Some of the ones on the table I got are a little...strange.


	13. Underdogs Wednesdays #13: 6-8/30 Prompt Drabbles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> Only three this week instead of five because these got incredibly long. Also, these are not drabbles. These are ficlets. These sully the drabble name.
> 
> Also, last time I said that there would be 15 of these not!drabble things, which was wrong. There will actually be 30 of them. I have no idea why I said 15.

**/xiii/**

.

.

.

**(6)**

**Prompt:** _Laptop **  
**_**Word Count:** 1,853

.

When Sebastian Blood is revealed to be Super Fucking Evil, people start groveling.

It's really not enough for Laurel. It's really not enough to fix what these people put her through. Her father cries, so she says she forgives him, even though she doesn't (yet). She ignores phone calls from Felicity Smoak and Adam Donner. And she sits at home trying to gain control of her anger.

But when Oliver shows up on her doorstep, looking like he wants the earth to swallow him whole, she snaps. It's not just because of Sebastian. It's not even because of the atrocious things he said to her the night of that disastrous family dinner. It's because Sebastian wasn't the only one whose true identity was revealed to her that night. As she stands there, listening to him go on and on about Sebastian, she wonders if he knows what she saw that night. She thinks he probably doesn't.

''I know who you are, Oliver,'' she whispers, once he has finished, and she watches him pale.

He opens and closes his mouth several times, like a fish, before he breathes out a shaky, ''Laurel.'' He stops, looks down at his feet and shakes his head. ''I'm sorry.''

She just smiles, leans against the door, tilts her head to the side, and waits for him to lift his eyes back to her. When he does, swallowing nervously, she leans in a little closer and says calmly, sweetly, ''I wonder what I could do with this information.'' He sucks in a breath and his eyes widen, but before he can stutter out her name, or yell at her, she stands up on her tip toes and leans in to whisper something in his hear. ''This is such interesting leverage to have, Oliver.''

And then she slams the door in his stunned face.

It feels better than it should.

.

''Come on, you're surprised?''

Laurel narrows her eyes and presses her lips into a thin line, pointing the sharp end of the knife at the screen of the laptop. ''Don't start.''

''The guy is a cocky little shit, Laurel,'' Dean says slowly. ''This is what he does. He does cocky little shit things, because he's a cocky little shit. This includes delusions of being Robin Hood. And you better not have been bluffing,'' he points a finger at her. ''I want you to fuck his shit up.''

''Dean,'' she sighs. ''Don't make me rethink this Skype call.''

His only response to that is a grin. ''You would never. You love our Skype calls. I'm your favourite person.''

She snorts. ''And Oliver is the cocky little shit?'' She picks up the cutting board and dumps the cubed pieces of chicken in the sauce simmering on the stove. As soon as she does, Dean makes an oddly high pitched distressed sounding noise and jerks in his seat, reaching for her. He realizes quickly that he can't actually touch her through the computer screen. His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he winces, slouching back down in his seat. Laurel freezes, still holding the cutting board, dread curdling in her stomach. ''What?''

''I...'' He shakes his head. ''Nothing.''

''...I wasn't supposed to put that in there, was I?''

''It's fine,'' he says quickly, scratching at his the thick scruff on his face that she has dubbed his Beard of Guilt. ''It's just... You weren't supposed to put the chicken in the sauce. It was supposed to be - ''

''Oh my god, I was supposed to bake it!''

''It's fine,'' he says again. ''It's okay. We can work around it,'' he adds, but then grimaces, probably because he doesn't actually know how to work around it.

She groans and puts the cutting board down. ''This was a horrible idea,'' she says, moving to run her hand through her hair.

''Raw chicken!'' Dean yelps. ''You have raw chicken on your hands! Wash your hands!''

She lets out another sigh, louder this time and moves over to the sink to wash her hands. ''I should have just ordered out,'' she calls over the sound of the running water. ''Why did I think I could make butter chicken at home?''

''Because you're an optimist and it's adorable,'' he tells her, ''but also because butter chicken is _not_ that hard to make.''

She scoffs, drying her hands on a dishtowel. ''It is if you're an idiot.''

''You're not an idiot.’’

She gives him a look. ‘’You’re placating me,’’ she says, tossing the dishtowel aside and plucking the recipe book from the counter. ''Okay, so - ''

''Where did you throw that dishtowel? Is it on the stove top?''

''Of course not,'' she scowls, and yanks the dishtowel from the stove top. She leans down, elbows on the counter in front of the computer. ''Moving on - ''

''You know I can see down your shirt, right?''

She waves her hand at him dismissively and hums noncommittally.

''No, sweetheart, I can't see your face. I can _literally_ only see down your shirt.''

''Well,'' she pulls a chair over to the counter and takes a seat. ''It's nothing you haven't seen before.'' She looks down at the recipe for butter chicken, skimming it over quickly. ''Oh, okay, so I didn't have the proper spices for the sauce so I just used more cayenne pepper. Do you think that's...okay?''

Dean blinks at her. Finally, he chuckles quietly and says, '' _Laur_.''

She snaps the recipe book shut, leans over to switch off the stove, and drops her chin into the palm of her hand. ''I'll order out,'' she decides.

He nods. ''Probably a good idea.''

She reaches for her bottle of water. ''I can't really take down Oliver, you know,'' she murmurs, absently picking at the label. ''It's not... What he’s doing... He's doing _good_.''

''He ruined your life,'' he reminds her. ''More than once.''

She squeezes her eyes shut. ''I'm not that person.''

''I know,'' he says, ''and I love that. But sometimes I wish you were.''

''If it makes you feel any better,'' she shrugs and opens her eyes, ''sometimes I wish I was too.''

He doesn't answer. Just tips a bottle of beer to his lips. She presses her lips together and narrows her eyes in disapproval, but doesn't say anything. She doesn't say anything about his drinking, or his sadness beard, and she doesn't ask if things are less toxic between him and Sam, because she knows they aren't. The look on his face, the one that seems to be permanently etched onto his skin, tells her enough. The flippant little comments Sam makes about Dean when she talks to him tells her that things are not getting better. Things are not great on her end either. She has stopped drinking, which was the hardest thing she has ever done, and she's trying with Sara, but it's still hard for her to look at Sara and not see what she and Oliver did. What they're doing. Her relationship with her father has shifted into awkward and estranged because he's always with Sara, and she understands why, but it's hard to keep doing this alone. And honestly, Oliver has kind of moved into the 'Means Nothing to Me' category. It stings a little but at the same time, what exactly is he supposed to mean to her?

At this point, Dean is all she has. He's the one bright spot in her life in Starling City, which is kind of sad if you think about it because he's hardly a ray of sunshine. He may have just been being a cocky ass, but he really is her favourite person. And she doesn't want to toot her own horn, but she's kind of all Dean has right now as well. Cas is MIA (again), Sam is...a lot of things, but pleasant is not one of them right now, and Dean's mental state is decomposing. Yeah. _Decomposing._ He is  _rotting_ on the inside. Just like she was. Just like she _still_ is.

They're both stuck.

''Uh, I'm not sure I trust that look on your face,'' Dean says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She frowns and takes a delicate sip of her water. ''I don't know what you mean.''

''You're scheming.''

''I don't scheme.''

''Oh, you _absolutely_ scheme.''

''Dean, do you like where you are?''

He looks startled, eyes widening slightly. ''Do I...?'' He leans back in his chair and folds his arms. ''Depends.''

''On?''

''How literal you are.''

''I mean,'' she stresses. ''Do you like living in the bunker? Are you happy there? With Sam? Does it feel like home?''

''It...'' He shifts, looking uncomfortable. ''I don't know. Maybe?''

''Does Sam feel like home?''

She sees his fingers twitch. He glances over his shoulder for a prolonged moment. ''What kind of question is that?''

''Do _I_ feel like home?''

She swears she can hear him stop breathing. ''...I wish you wouldn't ask me things like that,'' he finally croaks out. ''You know the answer to that question.''

Laurel licks her lips slowly and wrings her hands nervously. ''Dean,'' she swallows and looks down at her hands. ''I don't think I want to be here anymore.''

''Laurel - ''

''No,'' she shakes her head. ''That's not what I... I don't mean... I mean... I don't want to be in Starling City anymore. And I don't think you should be in that bunker anymore. You're going to fade away if you aren't careful. It's already happening. You're losing Dean and you're becoming what Sam thinks you are. And you're not that person.''

''I - I don't understand what you're...'' He stops, gritting his teeth. ''I'm not sure this is - ''

''We should move into together,'' she states bluntly.

Dean lets out a sharp, short bark of laughter. ''Right, because exes moving in together is always a good idea.''

''And being best friends with your ex is?''

He looks down, fingers still clenched around his beer bottle. She watches his lips part and when he looks back up at her, she can see the battle in his eyes. He clenches his jaw and then he looks away from her. He turns his head and looks off into the distance somewhere, most likely in whatever direction Sam is. His lips part and she hears him draw in a deep, shaky breath. It's loud and clear.

She ducks her head and lets her hair fall in her eyes. ''I'm tired of feeling like I'm dying here,'' she says quietly, so quietly she's not sure he can hear her. ''I don't want to be walked on anymore. I don't deserve it. And neither do you.''

Dean, eyes still somewhere else, finally looks back at her. He looks thoughtful. ''We're too old to run away from our problems, Laurel.''

''You're right,'' she nods. ''We're too old to run away. But we're too young to want to die.''

He runs a hand over his face, leans back in his chair and watches her silently for a moment. Finally, he clears his throat, cocks his head to the side and asks, ''Where would we go?''

.

.

.

**(7)**

**Prompt:** _Gloves_  
 **Word Count:** _1,510_  
 **Other Notes:** Last Thursday I was channel surfing and I landed on Grey's Anatomy, a show I usually ignore. For whatever reason I decided to watch that episode, I fell in love with April/Jackson (I've learned that there are a lot of people who hate her and them as a couple and I don't understand why because best friends to lovers, interrupting a wedding to tell the bride/groom you love them, secretly married, these are all my guilty pleasure tropes - also on a shallow note, goddamn they are one attractive couple) and I have spent the past week catching up on their love story. And now my love for Doctor!Dean has been rekindled. There are not enough Doctor!Dean AUs in the world.

.

''You're interns, right?''

Laurel peers up at the two young men on either side of her and can't help but feel a flash of pity for them. If it's going to take two of them to stitch up her arm, they must be interns. Brand spanking new interns too, because she's never met either of them.

''Mmmhmm,'' one of them, Kevin Tran, nods in confirmation, one gloved hand still holding her arm. She has to admit that out of the two of them, she's glad Kevin seems to be the one taking charge. He seems a little more capable than Roy Harper, who looks terrified and sick. Kevin at least seems to _slightly_ know what he's doing.

This is a small comfort considering what Roy says next. ''It's only our second day.''

Kevin lets out a long suffering sigh. ''Don't _tell_ her that, Roy. You'll make her nervous.''

Laurel stares at them, blinks, and then looks down at her arm. Oh, her poor, poor arm. She takes a moment to prepare herself for the inevitable first day fuck up that will leave her with a permanent, probably gnarly, scar on her arm. ''Well, that's nice,'' she says politely, offering them a weak smile. She bites her lip nervously, wrinkling her nose when Kevin reaches for the needle. ''Um, boys,'' she says, ''I don't mean to be rude, but is Dr. Merlyn working tonight? I'm sure you're both very capable, but I think I'd rather have Tommy stitch me up. If you don't mind.''

The boys look at each other with wide eyes, probably because they've never heard anyone refer to Dr. Merlyn by his first name.

''He's very good at it,'' she adds on. ''Not as good as Dr. Winchester, of course, but he's suitable.''

Kevin and Roy share another look. ''...Do you get in a lot of car accidents?'' Kevin asks.

She smiles. ''Nope, this was my first one. Oh, by the way, do you know if anyone has paged my husband yet? I know that John told me - ''

''You know Dr. Diggle too?'' Roy practically moans, fidgeting nervously at the prospect of having to work on someone who not only knows Dr. Merlyn but Dr. Diggle as well. Poor boy has no idea what he's gotten himself into here. ''Wait,'' his eyes are as wide as saucers. ''Your husband is a doctor here?''

''Oh no,'' Kevin murmurs, horrified. ''Please tell me it's not - ''

The curtain is ripped back with brute force and a growly, booming voice shouts out, ''THREAD THAT NEEDLE AND DIE, INTERN!''

It is, by the way. The infamous Dr. Winchester. He who makes interns cry. (He's disgustingly proud of that moniker.)

Roy shrieks. Kevin lets out a startled yelp of, ''Oh my god!''

Laurel lets out the breath that she has been holding since being brought in, body sagging in relief. She tries to send him a brilliant smile, but it feels a little unsteady on her lips. She's pretty sure an adrenaline crash is less than five minutes away from hitting. She waves animatedly with her uninjured arm. ''Hi, honey!''

Dean, grumpy and scowly as ever, marches across the small space to snatch the needle out of Kevin's hand. ''Bad interns,'' he snaps. ''Bad. Step away from my wife before _you_ end up needing sutures. Sutures that I will personally do myself and purposefully fuck up because,'' his voice lowers to a dangerous snarl, '' _nobody_ _is touching my wife's arm but_ _me._ Especially not,'' his lip curls in disgust, '' _interns_.'' He says the word 'interns' like it's the dirtiest word anyone could ever utter. He glowers at them (in response, Kevin glares right back - brave boy - and Roy looks like he's three seconds away from peeing his pants and then fainting) and very carefully places the needle back down, grabbing Laurel's chart and using it to herd them out. ''Now, get. Both of you. Shoo, children, shoo. There's a patient with explosive diarrhea in bed five. Go check on him.''

There's an indignant screech of, ''Are you herding us?!'' from Kevin, but Dean's only response is a weird sort of growl as he pulls the curtain closed.

When he turns around, Laurel gives him a look that she hopes comes across as disapproving, shakes her head and says, ''That wasn't nice.''

Dean makes this odd, strangled sort of gasping noise, like he can't breathe properly, his eyes soften and suddenly, all the anger and grumpiness has been replaced by fear. ''Laurel,'' he breathes. His hands move to cup her cheeks and he leans in to kiss her forehead. ''Jesus Christ.'' He buries his face in her hair and breathes out another shaky, '' _Jesus_ _Christ_.''

''Get it together, man,'' she jokes. ''You don't want them to find out you have a functioning heart, do you?'' It's a feeble attempt at a joke, even to her own ears. Dean has more heart than most of the doctors in this place. She squeezes her eyes shut and clutches at his scrubs. ''Did you call Sin?'' She asks, sucking in a deep breath and trying to calm down. She's staring down the barrel of a breakdown and she refuses to let that happen right now. It was a minor accident. She's not going to break down in tears just because she hurt her arm. ''I told John not to call her. I don't want her to worry and I figured... I figured it would sound better coming from you.''

''I did,'' he murmurs, dropping another kiss to the top of her head before pulling away. ''I think she was still in class. I left a message telling her to call me back.''

''Good,'' she nods. ''Good. Hey,'' she watches him snap on a pair of gloves. ''I'm sorry.''

He frowns, taking a seat next to the bed. ''You're sorry? For what? It wasn't your fault.''

''I know that John had Lisa pull you out of surgery. I tried to tell him not to because I know you were doing a surgery with Moira Queen today but he - ''

''Whoa, no, hey, Laurel,'' his voice is firm. ''If something happens to you or Sin, I need to know. Surgery or not.''

''He who makes interns cry is a big ole' teddy bear softie,'' she whispers.

''Yeah, you just keep that to yourself,'' he warns.

''The other driver,'' she swallows and when he snaps a pair of gloves on, she decides it's best to not look while he fixes her arm. She's not afraid of needles, but there's something extremely unnerving about watching someone else sew your skin closed, whether it's your husband or not. ''Is he - ''

''He's alive,'' Dean says. He doesn't sound particularly happy about that. ''He's in rough shape,'' he tacks on. ''But he's alive. That's all I know. They won't tell me anything else. I don't even know what room he's in, which is lucky for him because if I knew - ''

''You would do your best to keep him alive,'' she says firmly. ''Because you are a good doctor.''

''He drove drunk, Laurel,'' he says darkly. ''He could have killed you. If I see him - ''

''You will wish him a speedy recovery and forgive him because his life is probably hard enough.''

He huffs. ''Honestly, woman, you're the most ridiculous person I know.''

''What did you just call me?''

''I called you the love of my life.''

She tries to smile. ''I really am fine, you know. It's just a scratch.''

He grunts. ''I think we should keep you overnight. For observation.''

''Dean,'' she moans, ''that's not necessary and you know it.''

''But I don't know it, Laurel,'' he insists. ''Three months ago, a woman came in here after a car accident. Mother of three. She was on her way to pick up her daughter from dance class when she lost control of her car. She was awake and alert when she was brought in. She seemed fine. She was actually kind of annoying. She kept snapping at us. One minute, she was yelling at me that she had to go pick up her kid and the next, she was seizing. She coded in the middle of the ER. I got her heart beating again, but it wasn't enough. She had internal injuries that we weren't able to catch in time. Her husband took her off life support a few weeks ago.'' His voice falters and he releases a shaky sounding breath. His hands remain perfectly, amazingly steady as he stitches up her arm. She watches him closely, but his eyes are down, focused only on her arm. ''I saw the look on her children's faces when she died. I don't want to see that look on Sin's face, I don't want to take you off life support, and I don't want you to code in my ER, Laurel. You're supposed to outlive all of us.''

Laurel blinks to clear her suddenly blurry vision and reaches up with her free hand to wipe at her eyes. ''Okay,'' she rasps. ''Okay, admit me.''

.

.

.

**(8)**

**Prompt:** _Blackboard_  
 **Word Count:** 2,311  
 **Other Notes:** I don't think it was possible for me to not do a Dean/Laurel high school reunion fic. Also, this is part of the Jayverse. And... Oddly enough, this turned out to be more about the relationship between Sara and Laurel rather than Dean/Laurel. I admit I do not like Sara but apparently I have intense feelings about the Laurel  & Sara sisterly relationship.  
 **Trigger Warnings:** Mentions of bullying.

.

Initially, Laurel's plan had been to stay far, far away from her ten year high school reunion.

She was literally going to _leave town_ the weekend of the reunion. Her plan had been to take Friday and Monday off work, load up Dean and Jay and fly to Anaheim for a Disneyland mini-vacation. But, of course, that plan fell apart piece by piece (she couldn't take Monday off, Dean wouldn't be home from his latest 'business trip' until late Friday night, they couldn't find a hotel room in Anaheim that they could afford, Dean and Jay both had a paralyzing fear of flying and it would have taken about a day to drive there, and Disneyland turned out to be a little out of their price range) and Tommy somehow managed to talk her into going to the reunion by telling her that she was ''way more awesome'' than anyone else who ever went to that school and it was time to show those people that and also because he needed a ''wingcouple'' because apparently Oliver still didn't have his sea legs in that department.

This is how Laurel winds up at her former high school, heart hammering in her chest, surrounded by people who mocked and ridiculed her for four years. She's just really hoping that Oliver's celebrity will help keep her under the radar for the night. Honestly, she's not entirely sure what she's worried about. It's not like these people noticed her in high school. Why would they notice her now?

See, here's the thing: Laurel wasn't popular in high school. She was pretty much invisible. She wore thick glasses, kept her hair up in a ponytail, kept her head down in books, she was painfully shy, and the only friend she had was Sara. Most of the time, she didn't mind. She preferred to be invisible, she preferred to keep her head buried in books, and she didn't have time for friends. Sara was enough. Sara was more than enough. Her parents could barely afford to send their girls to the elite private school and Laurel wanted to be a lawyer, so scholarships were necessary. She worked her ass off for four years, ignoring the snickers and the things people said about her and that one time someone almost sat on her because she was _that_ invisible to people, and it paid off. But yeah, it was lonely.

So, the summer before senior year, she started wearing contact lenses instead of her glasses, started stuffing her bra, lost a little weight, and a week into her senior year, Oliver Queen asked her out. She said no. She had honestly believed it was a trick. But he kept asking and asking and asking. He sent roses to her homeroom, he had Tommy talk him up to her, he sat with her at lunch, he stood up for her, he asked her to tutor him, he even went to Sara. He did everything but pull a Heath Ledger in 10 Things I Hate About You and serenade her and if she hadn't said yes when she did, he probably would have.

In hindsight, it's probably not a good idea to go out with someone just because they wear you down to the point where you can't say no anymore. That probably should have been a sign as to where that relationship was heading.

Hey, though. Laurel still made it. Look at her now. She's a lawyer, she runs a legal aid office, she has a beautiful son, and I'm sorry, but have you seen her husband? Because _yeah._

She goes into the reunion with her head held high.

It takes about half an hour for everything to go wrong.

It all starts with the pictures. As soon as people walk in the door, they are met with giant blown up yearbook photos of their high school selves. Which is a horrible idea and no high school reunion should ever do it. Laurel freezes as soon as she sees her picture with the glasses and the ponytail and the timid little smile.

''Oh my god,'' Tommy whispers, horrified, as soon as he lays eyes on his picture. ''Oh my god, oh my god, why would they do this? Look at me!''

''You look exactly the same,'' Oliver says dryly.

Dean tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at the picture. ''You...really do,'' he says slowly. ''What kind of fucking sorcery is that? Oliver, on the other hand,'' he smiles innocently and gestures towards the picture of Oliver, ''looks like the lost member of N'Sync.''

Oliver throws him a look, but does admit, ''I do regret that hair.''

''Everyone regrets that hair,'' Tommy tells him.

Laurel is still frozen, staring at her high school self. Her fingers are clutching her clutch purse so tightly her knuckles are turning white and she is struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to run. Why is she here again? She tried so hard to pretend that she wasn't bothered by the things people said about her in high school, especially after she started dating Oliver, when the rumors about her started. Apparently the only way a girl like her could ever land a catch like Oliver was through sexual favors.

''I think you look cute,'' Dean's voice is low in her ear and she jumps slightly when he puts his hand on her lower back. He leans down to whisper in her ear, ''You know I love when you wear your glasses.''

She lets out a quiet laugh and releases a breath. ''My mother was right about you,'' she murmurs, leaning up to peck his lips. ''You are a sweetheart.''

And yet somehow, things keep getting worse.

.

Monica Rollins, a former cheerleader whose nickname for Laurel used to be Mousey, screeches out her name in excitement when she sees her, pulls her in for a hug and when she steps back to look Laurel up and down, the first thing out of her mouth is, ''Mousey, have you gained weight?''

Tommy says, under his breath, ''Oh, no she did not.''

Laurel smiles.

.

Lissy Nichols (now Lissy Samuels), the girl who tried numerous times to get Oliver to leave Laurel for her, corners her at the bar, nods at Dean and says, ''How did _you_ manage to get a guy like that?''

Her husband, Louis Samuels (known to Laurel as the guy who put a sign on her back every day for a month that said Loser - imaginative - and then was unceremoniously knocked out by Sara, after she got tired of yanking the sign off Laurel's back every day for a month), chimes in with, ''Probably the same way she got Queen back in high school'' and then they laugh and laugh, because apparently they are still in high school.

''Oh, I was a goner the moment I met her,'' Dean says, coming up behind Laurel to wrap an arm around her shoulders. He's smiling, perfectly pleasant and nice, but there's a definite edge to his voice and it's not lost on Lissy and Louis. ''I mean, how could you not be?''

Laurel smiles.

.

After she started dating Oliver, there were a lot of girls who were extremely angry that ''mousy little Laurel Lance'' got to hang off of Oliver Queen's arm and they didn't. When the rumors started swirling that the only reason Oliver and Laurel were together was because she let him do filthy, filthy things to her, some of the girls scrawled _For a good time_ _call Laurel Lance_ followed by her cell number in red permanent marker on a stall door in the girls' bathroom. Sara tried to scrub it off, but it stayed there, stubborn, mocking.

Laurel had to change her phone number.

Although it's faded and covered by a lot of other nasty gossip, it's still there.

Laurel keeps smiling.

.

It's all unfortunate and uncomfortable, but the last straw is when Mike and Darryl Prescott approach Laurel and Oliver while they're alone. Dean is off being Tommy's reluctant wingman, and Laurel and Oliver are sitting alone at their table, in semi awkward silence. She has just gotten off the phone after checking in with her father to see how he's doing with Jay and Oliver is pouting because he doesn't get to be Tommy's wingman, and then Mike and Darryl sit down on either side of Oliver and Laurel.

Mike says, voice low and full of obvious faux sympathy, ''We were so sorry to hear about Sara.''

''Yeah,'' Darryl adds, and the look in his eyes makes Laurel hold her breath. ''We know how much she meant,'' he laughs a little, this cruel, taunting laugh, as he sneers at both of them. ''To both of you.''

It could almost be taken as an innocent comment if it weren't for the way the two jackasses burst into laughter.

Oliver goes pale. And then he goes red.

Laurel runs.

.

Dean finds her in an empty classroom.

She's perched on the desk, staring at the blackboard. There is an algebra equation still written on the board that she is trying to solve in her head. It's the only thing keeping her from crying. ''So,'' he says, moving to lean against the desk beside her. ''I'm not sure what happened back there, but you should know that Oliver grabbed both of those dudes by their hair and smashed their heads into the table. They cried a little.''

She chuckles quietly, but can't help the way it turns into a ragged sob halfway through.

''Laurel,'' Dean's voice is impossibly gently and impossibly worried. His fingers brush her arm. ''Laur, hey, honey, whatever those dicks said - ''

''It's not about them,'' she interrupts. ''It's...'' She looks down at the floor, the same floor that she stared at throughout most of her time trapped in this place. Most of the time being key. When she was trapped in class with her peers, if she wasn't staring at a book, she would stare at this floor and count down the minutes until the bell rang. But after class, during lunch, in the halls, she wouldn't stare at the floor. She would stare at Sara. ''It's about Sara,'' she admits.

He presses his lips together. ''Sara?''

''You know,'' she pushes off the desk and moves over to the blackboard, picking up a piece of chalk. ''I thought that the worse part of coming back here would be facing all of the terrible people, or answering questions about my relationship with Oliver. I never even thought...'' She shakes her head and clears her throat, trying to concentrate on the algebra problem. ''I don't think I realized how much she did for me in high school. She protected me. She stood up for me. She was my best friend. She was...'' She swallows. ''She was all I had for so long. And then after I got together with Oliver and after I graduated, we lost that. Sometimes I just think...'' She pauses. ''I don't know what I think. I guess I just wonder if I had spent more time with her, if we hadn't lost what we had...''

''Would she still have gotten on the boat,'' Dean finishes.

''I was so preoccupied with my relationship with Oliver and getting into law school that I stopped being her sister,'' she says hoarsely. ''If I had been there for her,'' she mutters. ''If I had been better - ''

''Laurel, stop it,'' her husband's voice is firm and doesn't leave much room for argument. ''Stop doing this to yourself. You did not stop being her sister. You were always her sister and you are always going to be her sister. Sara made a shitty choice, but it was _her_ choice. It wasn't because of you. It probably had very little to do with you, which makes it even shittier considering he was _your_ boyfriend, but...'' He pauses, letting out a breath and running a hand over his face. ''Look,'' his voice softens. He gently steals the chalk from her hand. ''I didn't know Sara. I wish I did. And I'm sure she was great and I'm sure she loved you. But she made mistakes. And her mistakes were just that.  _Her_ mistakes. You can't blame yourself for what Oliver and Sara did and you can't blame yourself for Sara's death.'' He leans into her personal space and erases part of her answer to the algebra problem. ''I hate that you blame yourself for so many things, you know.''

''Well,'' she sniffles and steps back. ''Now you know how I feel.''

He laughs. It's this loud, sharp bark of genuine belly laughter and she can't help but dissolve into soft, shaky giggles as well. It's not exactly a funny situation, but it's either that or burst into tears. ''We're quite the pair, aren't we?'' He puts the chalk down and claps his hands together, stepping back and cocking his head to the side to inspect the board.

''Did you just correct that?''

''Well, you got it wrong,'' he lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

Laurel loops her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder. ''I just didn't think that...coming back here would... I miss my sister, Dean.''

He dips his head down to kiss her shoulder. ''I know.''

She sighs and turns into him, folding her body into his, arms winding around his neck. His hand rubs up and down her back soothingly and she stands on her tip toes to bury her face in the crook of his neck. It's comforting. Makes her feel safe. She could stay like this forever. ''Hey,'' she whispers. ''If you had known me in high school, would you still have loved me?''

''Babe, when you were seventeen, I was twenty six. I think that might've created some problems.''

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I have to apologize for the quality of these. These are...not my best work. I'm weirdly proud of the second one (and I expect to be writing more fics in that same universe) but in all honesty, I have been so distracted writing wise lately and I'm not sure why.
> 
> Next UW will be March 19th.


	14. Underdogs Wednesdays #14: God is cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not technically part of the drabble series I'm doing, although it was inspired by one of the words. That word was 'cry.' Other than that, this is definitely not a drabble. This is a full on fic. It has a title and everything. And I have no idea how this happened. It just sort of came out of me like word vomit. And I am so, so sorry for this. Just a heads up? You should probably have tissues.
> 
> Things you need to know: This takes place in a universe where Dean/Laurel have been married since before the start of Arrow. This sort of follows along with season two of Arrow, but not at all with season nine of Supernatural. And it's not mentioned, but Castiel is no longer an angel and is human.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Descriptions of injuries, medical talk (sort of but not really) mostly due to life support, a brief mention of vomiting, and, um, major character death. (I'M SORRY.)
> 
> Suggested Listening: Say Something by A Great Big World (Instrumental Version), Get Up by Barcelona, Please Don't Go by Barcelona, Time by Hans Zimmer, and All Through the Night (Cover) by Sleeping At Last.
> 
> Title from the quote by Stephen King. ''God is cruel. Sometimes he makes you live.''

**/xiv/**

.

.

.

_God is cruel_

.

.

.

The Starling City General emergency room is hectic on a good day. Tonight, the night of the biggest storm in a decade, the emergency room is like a warzone, full of screaming, crying and moaning, frantic nurses, aggravated and aggravating doctors, and people yelling out orders, and beeping... It's like something straight out of a psychological thriller. It's horrible.

A lot of bad things happen in Starling City, apparently.

And Sam Winchester is in the belly of the beast, watching his brother splinter apart piece by broken piece, watching him flinch and twitch, bloodied hands clenched into fists. Sin is crying. She's letting out these loud, gulping, guttural, howl-like sobs that just keep coming. Her face is ashen and she is trembling, clinging to Dean with her arms wound around his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder. She is _petrified_. And why shouldn't she be? She and Laurel have just found each other. They have only just formed this tentative, supportive family unit along with Sara, and then this happens?

It's not fair.

Dean is trying with her, appearing more patient than he probably is, with one clenched fist slowly rising up to rub her back. Sam is stuck on the phone, voice wavering as he phones Quentin and then Dinah, stomach churning when he has to break the news to them that their daughter is here, in this place, again. Because of her sister. Because of Oliver Queen. _A-fucking-gain_. He doesn't tell them that part, of course. He would love to, but it's probably not the best idea. Oliver's already been assaulted quite viciously by Sara, and when he's faced with Dean and Sin... He has enough to deal with. Quentin would probably straight up shoot Oliver in the head if he knew.

When the phone calls have been made and the sound of Dinah's screams are echoing in his ears, Sam looks over at Dean. Poor, hollowed out, wrecked Dean, standing there, streaked with blood that isn't his, trying to comfort a shaking nineteen year old girl, and staring at the world through blank eyes because there are so many emotions flowing through him that he can't pick one. He looks bad. He looks really bad. Sam takes exactly one step towards his brother, reaches his arm out, opens his mouth...

...and then there's Oliver Queen.

He comes sweeping into the emergency room, sans his stupid leather, back in his street clothes, soaking wet with a split lip and a black eye. A fucking split lip and a black eye. That's all he got. Felicity Smoak and John Diggle are on either side of him, although neither of them particularly look like they want to be there, and Sara Lance is pushing her way through them to get to Dean and Sin. Oliver and Sara look pale, like they're about to throw up, probably because they realize what they've done, but their obvious guilt does not do anything to quell the rage swelling in Sam's gut. He doesn't have time to dwell on these feelings, because then Dean sees him and Dean's response is a little more...visceral. Sam knows what's coming. As soon as Dean's eyes lock on Oliver, everything seems to slow down and Sam tries to move as fast as he can, diving for Dean, but he's not quite fast enough.

Dean sees Oliver standing there, worry lines etched into his forehead, and he just snaps. ''You,'' he growls. ''You fucking bastard!'' And that would be when he attacks. He lunges. As soon as the first punch lands, Felicity is moving, pushing past Sam and rushing at Sin to wrap the girl in her arms and pull her away, a surprisingly fearless and brave move considering she has to push past Dean and his Hulk Smash-like rage. ''You did this,'' Dean is snarling. ''This is your fault! I'll kill you!'' And he will. Sam knows this. Knows _Dean._ Oliver is the reason for this. Oliver is the reason for all of this. He is the reason Laurel is in this place, fighting for her life, after being skewered.

It's a fairly one sided fight. Oliver doesn't appear to be fighting back that much, although he is spluttering out apologies and trying to stutter out, ''Wait. Wait, jus-just let me explain, please, please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,'' which does absolutely nothing except maybe make Dean angrier. So he goes for the throat. Sara screams when Oliver's back hits the wall and his head makes a disconcerting cracking noise against the wall, and her fingernails are digging into Dean's forearms, trying to pry him away, but it's no use. Sara is stronger than she looks, but Dean is running on adrenaline. He is running on fear. He is still screaming, still spitting out, ''I'll kill you'' over and over again, grip tightening.

There is a second where Sam remembers. He remembers everything. He remembers when they figured out that the Arrow had lied to Laurel about why she was helping him and his fucking team, that they were using her to get into the building, he remembers the frantic dread in his stomach, remembers Sin screeching that she was going with them because it was Laurel. Sam remembers getting there just in time to watch Slade Wilson run a blade through Laurel's stomach. He remembers the sound of Sin's scream, loud, louder than Sara's sudden, vicious sobbing and the sound of Oliver tackling Slade out the window, and how Dean got to Laurel just in time to catch her when she fell. Sam remembers the look in his brother's eyes when Laurel fell into his arms, and he almost lets Dean do it. He comes so close. But then he remembers that Oliver has a little sister who adores him, and he dives into the fray.

It takes three people to pull Dean away from Oliver. John, Sam and a security guard. He is still shouting out threats, still yelling out, ''I'll kill you! I swear to God, Queen, I will fucking kill you, you little shit! _I will kill you_!''

As soon as Dean's hands are gone, Oliver slumps to the ground, dazed but conscious, looking almost disappointed that Dean failed. He looks up at Sara, seeking out her eyes. Sara hesitates, hands hanging limply at her side, staring down at him. She doesn't help him. A nurse bustles over to Oliver, kneeling down in front of him. Sara turns on her heel and marches over to Felicity and Sin, holding her arms out for Sin.

In the background, Dean's shouts have turned into these wrenching, jagged sobs that cut through Sam like knives.

Dean has lost people. He has lost everyone. But he has never lost a wife before. Sam is not sure what that kind of loss will look like on his brother and he doesn't want to find out. Sam turns to Dean. Felicity gets there first, pulling him down, into her arms, awkward but determined. She catches Sam's eyes over Dean's shoulder, her wide eyes brimming with tears, and she mouths, _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry_.

It's not enough.

.

.

.

Laurel's stomach was mangled. She's in surgery for internal bleeding, but the doctors aren't sure of the extent of the damage. She could have organ damage. She could go into cardiac arrest. If she survives, she might not ever be the same. She might not be able to have kids. She might not be able to walk again, because the blade nicked her spine. Frankly, she's lucky she even made it to the hospital.

_She might not make it through the surgery,_ is what Dean is told. _Your wife's injuries are...extensive,_ he is told. _It doesn't look good._

_Prepare yourself._

.

.

.

Dean understands why Sam is hesitant to let him talk to Team Arrow. He did try to strangle Oliver to death and refuses to apologize for it. But, see, Dean's figured something out. Dean knows their dirty little secret. He knows what they did. And he wants them to know that he knows.

He wants to see them squirm.

While his wife is fighting for her life in surgery and her family has been moved to a private waiting room, Dean stalks the halls of the hospital until he finds them, slouched in uncomfortable seats. Oliver has his head in his hands and Felicity has her hand resting on Oliver's knee. Sara is leaning back against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, arms wrapped around herself. John looks ready to throw someone through a wall. Roy is pale and sickly looking. He's the easiest to read. The guilt eating away at his insides is plain as day. It tells Dean all he needs to know.

He clears his throat.

Oliver leaps to his feet and makes an attempt to approach Dean, but John wisely holds him back. ''How is she?'' He asks. His eyes are red. He's been crying. ''Is she okay?'' When Dean doesn't answer, his eyes flicker with frustration - bold, really; bold to go for frustration - and his voice rises, ''Dean, is she okay?''

Dean meets his eyes. Oliver steps back. Dean looks at each one of them carefully. He maps them out. He could, if he wanted to. He could take this entire team down. He could win. He draws in a deep, calming breath. ''I'm going to tell you all something and I want you to listen to me,'' he says. Every single one of them stares up at him guiltily. ''You people are toxic sludge,'' he says, with an extraordinarily strange sort of calmness. ''You are all worthless human beings. As far as I'm concerned, you don't even deserve to breathe the same air as Laurel.'' He looks at Oliver. ''Do you understand why I'm saying this to you?'' He looks at Sara. ''I want you to understand why I'm saying this,'' he tells her. ''This isn't a grudge, this isn't because of anything you've done in the past,'' back to Oliver, ''this is because of what you did tonight.''

The magic words. Oliver goes so pale he looks like a ghost. Sara lets out a keening, sick sounding moan and slides to the ground.

''I'm going to ask you this once,'' Dean says, even though he already knows the answer. ''And if you lie to me, I am going to throw you,'' he points at Oliver, ''off the roof. Am I making myself clear?''

Nods all around.

Dean clenches his jaw. ''Did you use my wife as bait?''

Oliver's face crumbles and he lets out a single, dry sob, leaning over, hands on his knees, gasping pathetically.

''That's not a fucking answer, Oliver,'' Dean snarls. ''And I am not going to ask you again. Did you or did you not - ''

''Yes,'' it comes from Diggle. It's low, full of regret and anger. ''She was bait. We used her. We used Laurel.'' He glares at Oliver. ''We told her we were going to take down Sebastian Blood and we needed her help. But we were just using her to get into the building, because Oliver... Because we knew Slade would let her in.''

''Why? Why would he let her in?''

''...Because she was his next target,'' Felicity whispers.

Dean nods slowly, trying to process the absurdity of what he has just been told. ''So... So, basically, you delivered my wife to a mad man who was targeting her?'' Suddenly, nobody can meet his eyes. He lets out a slow, bitter chuckle. ''You know, I don't know why I'm surprised. You've taken everything away from her, Oliver. Why not take her life too, right?''

''I'm sorry,'' Oliver chokes out.

''You're sorry?'' Dean mocks. ''You're _sorry?_ You think that's enough? You think that's anywhere close to being enough? Sorry isn't going to save her life. Sorry isn't going to fix everything you've broken.'' He shakes his head. ''Why did you have to come back? Why couldn't you have drowned, you stupid son of a bitch?''

Oliver stands straight and squares his shoulders. ''I ask myself that same - ''

''No,'' Dean points a warning finger at him. ''Don't you fucking do that with me.''

''Nobody was supposed to get hurt,'' Roy bursts out, rising to his feet.

''Well, somebody did get hurt, Roy!'' Felicity shouts, standing on unsteady feet. ''She could die because of us! Don't you understand that?''

''She shouldn't have gone after him! Why did she? Why did she do that? Why did she attack him like that?''

''Because of me.''

All eyes go to Sara.

''She was trying to protect me,'' her voice is wobbly and her eyes are unfocused. ''She saw him go after me and she attacked him. She saved my life. She... She saved my life.''

''Hope it was worth it,'' Dean says.

''But why? Why did she..? She's not a...'' Roy trails off.

''Not what, Roy? A hero?'' Dean laughs again and cocks his head to the side. ''Is that what you people think you are?'' In a surprisingly wise move, none of them answer him. ''Okay,'' he clears his throat. ''So, here's how it's going to work. If she recovers, you,'' he points at Sara, ''are going to beg. Do you understand me? You are going to grovel like you have never groveled in your life. And you fuckin' pray she forgives you, Sara, because I know I never will. And you,'' he points at Oliver. ''You are going to leave her alone. That's it. That's all I'm asking from you. I don't know what you want from her. I don't know why you continue to insert yourself into her life - into our life - but this is where it stops. Just leave her alone. Please. This,'' he swallows. ''This is me begging you, Oliver. Just leave her alone. Okay? Okay, because this is what you do. You're not saving this city. You're breaking the people closest to you, and I need you to stop breaking my wife.''

''I - ''

''No. No _'I'_ , dumbass. Yes or no.''

''...Yes.''

Dean nods, satisfied. ''Good. Great. Now that we've got that out of the way, I'm going to go and tell that pretty nurse to escort you out of the hospital. You're not needed here.'' He spins on his heel to leave, stopping only to haul Sara up by her arm. ''Except you. You're family. Your father needs you. Oh,'' he calls over his shoulder. ''By the way, if Laurel dies, so do you, Oliver. You want a supervillain? You got one.''

.

.

.

Laurel makes it through the surgery.

Now she just has to make it through the night.

.

.

.

Laurel makes it through the night.

She makes it through the first night, and the second night, and the third night. She keeps making it. Nobody expects her to. Nobody except Dean. He has always believed in her more than anyone else in this godforsaken place.

But she doesn't wake up.

.

.

.

Dean spends his days and nights in the hospital, by her side, where he should be, holding her hand and waiting for the impossible. He tries his best to take care of Sin, although he knows he's failing spectacularly in that aspect. These days it's more like she's taking care of him. He is the one who calls Roy and Thea to come and take her home after she has fallen asleep in some uncomfortable hospital chair. He is the one who forces her to go back to school after two weeks of her spending every waking hour in the hospital, which she doesn't seem to find a problem with because if both Laurel and Dean are wasting away in this place then it must be okay for her to do it too. But when Sam and Sara fail to convince him to leave Laurel's side long enough to eat something, Sin is the one who shows up with a bag of Big Belly Burgers and refuses to leave until he's eaten something. Dinah and Quentin try to get him to go home and take a shower or sleep, but Sin is the only one who uses Laurel against him, sneering at him that Laurel would think he was a pathetic mess until he drags himself back to their empty apartment for a night of tossing and turning in an empty bed.

If this is what it's like now, what will it be like when Laurel is gone? When there is nobody left to sit beside, no hand left to hold? What will happen to them then?

A month goes by.

Laurel makes it _a month_. She wasn't even supposed to make it through that first night and yet she makes it thirty days, because that's how strong and amazing she is. A month goes by and her parents want to take her off life support. Dean tells them to go to hell. Dean tells them to go to hell and every second he spends away from her side becomes terrifying because he's afraid they'll take her away from him while he's out of the room. A month goes by and her parents, her sister, Sam, they all just...give up on her. They try to tell him that this isn't about them, that this is about her, that she deserves peace, that she wouldn't want this, but he doesn't believe them. This is about them. This is about what they can take, and they can't take looking at her like this.

Well, fuck them.

She's still beautiful.

And he's got power of attorney, so if he says she's staying then she's staying.

''You can go right ahead and give up on her,'' he says. ''You're good at that,'' he adds in a snarl, just to hurt them. ''But I never have. And I'm not about to start now.'' He glances over to the window in Laurel's hospital room, where he can just barely make out Sin, sitting by Laurel's bed, homework open in her lap. ''Just go home,'' he tells them, and can't look at Dinah's pale face or Sara's tears or Quentin's bloodshot eyes. ''She doesn't need you here. _We_ don't need you.''

Sin is the only one who agrees with him.

He doesn't tell her about what her family wants. He doesn't want to upset her. More than that, he doesn't want her to agree with them. He shuts the door to the hospital room quietly and closes his eyes. He leans back against it, trying to breathe, trying to remind himself that this is Laurel. She's stronger than this. She'll wake up. She'll wake up and she'll be fine and they'll have a big wedding like she wanted instead of the courthouse wedding like they had and they'll have a house and a handful of kids and a dog if she wants a dog and he'll give her anything, he'll give her everything, he'll give her the whole damn world and she'll be fine, she'll be okay, if she can just hang on a little longer she'll be okay, she'll be perfect, they'll be perfect and she'll be -

''They want you to pull the plug,'' Sin says, voice hollow and lifeless.

He opens his eyes. She hasn't even looked up from her homework, pen still moving across the page fluidly. Dean swallows hard. ''...Yes.''

Her notebook shuts with an audible slapping noise and she rockets to her feet, whirling around to face him. There is rage in her eyes. It's masking the fear. ''Don't you dare,'' she whispers. He doesn't expect it to come out in a whisper. Like she doesn't even have the energy to scream. ''Don't you do it. I'll never forgive you. I swear,'' her voice grows louder, only to crack feebly. ''I swear I'll never forgive you if you let her go.''

''I'm not letting her go,'' his voice is calm. ''She's going to stay here. She's going to stay here with us.''

Sin starts crying.

Dean pushes off the door and takes a step toward her.

She darts away from him, holding a hand up. She's trembling, her entire body vibrating and shaking. ''She's going to wake up,'' she sobs. ''She's going to wake up and we're going to be great. Everything's going to be great.''

''Yeah, honey,'' he says, tongue thick in his mouth. ''We're gonna be great.''

She lets out a loud, wrenching sob that sounds like it physically hurts and then she strides over to him and lets him wrap her up in his arms.

.

.

.

Dinah and Quentin spend every possible moment that they can with her, as does Sin. Sara spends a lot of time in the hospital, but not a lot of time inside the actual room with Laurel, unable to look at her sister's body lying there _failing._ Sam is there every morning and every evening, although one can't be sure if he's there for Laurel or for Dean. Cas shows up with Charlie a few days after. Cas sits in the silence with Dean. Doesn't offer meaningless platitudes or apologies. Just sits with him in the silence until it gets dark. Charlie flitters around, fluffing Laurel's pillow and going on coffee runs. She holds Dean's hand while Dean holds Laurel's. Joanna stops by twice a week, always at the same time, with flowers clutched in her shaking hands and a soft smile for Dean. Roy and Thea come by regularly, but Thea is the only one who actually visits Laurel, spending one afternoon painting her nails for her. Felicity and Diggle stop by once, but seem to spend most of their time and energy trying to keep Oliver away. Oliver keeps trying, keeps making excuses and pleading and sobbing and begging, but security has their list of people who are not allowed to see Laurel and it basically consists of a giant picture of him. He makes it into Laurel's room once, because he comes in through the window as Arrow instead of Oliver, but he freezes when he sees her pale, lifeless body in the bed and when Dean walks into the room and sees him there, he flees the same way he came in before Dean has a chance to break a chair over his back.

He doesn't come back.

Helena Bertinelli comes to see her once. Cas and Charlie have just left for food and Dean is standing at the coffee machine, doing his best to keep his tired eyes open. And then the elevator doors open. He isn't surprised when he sees her step off the elevator, he knew she and Laurel had just begun to toe the lines of some sort of tentative friendship, but he is surprised to see the emotion in her eyes. She stays for hours and doesn't say a single word to Dean. Just sits in the chair next to Laurel's bed and stares at her, unmoving. She doesn't touch Laurel, doesn't hold her hand or stroke her hair. She just sits there, wheels turning in her head, plotting and scheming. Finally, she lifts her eyes from Laurel to Dean and says, ''Would you like me to kill him for her?''

Dean startles and freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. He blinks at her, lowering the cup. ''Slade Wilson?''

''No,'' her eyes darken and her voice is a hiss, '' _Oliver_.''

He clenches his jaw. It's the most tempting offer he has gotten in a long time. ''...She would never forgive me,'' he says.

''She's going to die,'' her voice is steady. ''Her ability to forgive has run out.''

He doesn't say anything, but he does put down his coffee and lean forward, fingers brushing the pulse point in Laurel's wrist just to make sure she's still there.

''This is how villains are made, Dean,'' she says, and there's a hitch in her voice, so brief he thinks he might have imagined it. ''Through loss. You would make a terrific villain.'' She crosses one leg over the other and tilts her head to the side, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. ''He took everything away from her, you know. He took everything away from a lot of people. Don't you think it's about time someone took everything from him?''

''Helena.''

''Why should he get to live?'' Her voice rises. ''She is better than him.''

''She's better than everyone,'' he throws back lazily. ''Doesn't mean I'm gonna slaughter the entire city just because they didn't deserve her.''

''We could save this city,'' she argues. ''We could save this city from Oliver Queen. People won't have to die for him anymore.''

''No, stop it.'' He shakes his head. He looks down at Laurel's limp hand, free of all of those ugly tacky rings she loved to wear so much, except for the one he gave her. He couldn't afford an engagement ring, or even a proper wedding ring when they first got married. It was just this plain platinum band that he bought from a pawn shop. He was going to buy her a new one on their first anniversary but she told him not to. She loved her wedding ring. He threads his fingers through hers and lifts her hand up to kiss the back of it. ''Laurel...'' He has to swallow. ''This isn't happening because...'' He squeezes his eyes shut. ''She did not die for Oliver fucking Queen,'' he growls. ''She went out trying to fight, to do the right thing. She's a hero and she died a hero. That asshole had enough of her life, Helena. He can't have her death. He can't have any of her anymore. She is officially free of him. And you...'' He reluctantly tears his eyes away from Laurel to look up at Helena, meeting her wide, startled eyes. ''Stop being so fucking ungrateful.''

She flinches.

''Laurel believed in you. She thought you could do better. She _knew_ you could do better. She knew you could be _good_. I got no illusions about you, Bertinelli,'' he sneers. ''I know what you've done and I know what you could do. You could take out Oliver Queen in one fell swoop, better than Wilson ever could. You could win the city, if that's what you really want. Or you could get a grip, go out there and be the hero that Laurel knew you could be. You're not going to forget about what she did for you. I won't let you. Laurel gave you a second chance when no one else would. Don't waste it. Now, leave. Go out and be better. Live.'' He waves his hand dismissively and slouches back in his seat. ''Pretend I said something that got through to you.''

Helena shifts in her seat uncomfortably. Her lower lip is trembling and her eyes are full of tears, an odd look on her. She's never been emotionless, Dean knows this, but he has never been allowed to see her emotions before. All he's ever seen is the tough outer shell. She opens her mouth and tries to say something to him, but he has already gone back to his coffee and his eyes are for Laurel only. She sits there for another moment, sniffling quietly and then she clears her throat and rises to her feet. She doesn't say anything to Dean. She inches closer to the bed and picks up Laurel's hand, holding it tightly in both of her hands, before she leans down and whispers something in Laurel's ear. Her long dark hair brushes over Laurel's cheek. She stands straight and looks at Dean. He's still not looking at her. She hesitates briefly, still clutching Laurel's hand, and then she leans down once more and presses a kiss to Laurel's forehead.

She lets go of Laurel's hand.

Cautiously, like she's approaching a wild animal, Helena moves to the other side of the bed, bends down and kisses Dean's cheek. ''You're a good man,'' she tells him, and he lets out a bitter, disbelieving huff of laughter and doesn't look at her. ''But I'm still going to rough him up a bit the next time I see him.'' And then she turns on her heel, hair flying, and walks away. In the doorway, she stops, just long enough to say, ''Also, I'm covering all of her hospital bills, don't fight me on this,'' and then she's gone before he can protest.

Dean stares at the spot where she had been and sighs. He scrubs a hand over his face, over the beard he hasn't bothered to shave off, and closes his eyes momentarily. Other than the soft beeping of her heart monitor, it's quiet. In the quiet, the space between his breaths, he realizes, with an excruciating jolt, that he has just spent an entire conversation talking about Laurel in past tense. His eyes fly open and he sits up, looking over at Laurel just to make sure she's still there.

Only it's not Laurel.

Not really. This...This body isn't his Laurel. This isn't the gorgeous, vibrant, funny, kind, smart Laurel who is constantly surprising him, who amazes him every day with her courage and her heart of gold. This isn't the woman who makes him want to do better, be better, feel better. This is just a body. This is just a shell.

''No,'' the word feels like it rips out of him. ''No. Laur...'' His breathing speeds up. Hers remains slow and steady. ''Laurel, no. You don't...'' He takes her hand and squeezes, perhaps a little too hard. ''Don't. Don't do this. Please don't do this. You weren't supposed to do this.'' It takes him a minute to realize he's crying. Blubbering, actually. He's holding onto her hand too hard and he can't let go. ''Come on, beautiful,'' he rasps. ''Open your eyes. Squeeze my hand. Just do something!'' He stands, pushing his chair back so quickly it nearly topples over. ''Don't just lie there! You are fucking Laurel Lance! You're a Winchester! Winchesters don't die! Get up! Wake up!''

She doesn't wake up.

Dean rakes his hands through his hair and doesn't scream, even though he can feel it building in his throat. He can't breathe. He is standing there, fists clenched, panting, and his breaths flat out refuse to reach his lungs. His chest feels like there's a weight on it, like his heart is in some sort of vice. When his lungs begin to burn, he thinks he might be drowning in her.

He's having a panic attack. He's not drowning. He knows this. Logically, in the back of his mind, he knows this. But it sure as hell feels like he's drowning. Like the weight of love and grief is holding him under. For a second, one solitary second, he thinks he wouldn't mind drowning. But Laurel would kill him if he wasn't around to take care of Sin and her father and her sister now that she's gone. So he comes up for air. His gasping breaths reach his lungs and his blurred vision clears. Don't get him wrong, he still feels like he's dying, but it's a feeling he's become accustomed to during this past month.

Dean stares at the body in the bed. At the woman who is leaving him. At his wife.

See, here's the thing. Here's the bitter truth no future widow or widower wants to admit: She is not going to wake up.

There is not more to the story.

This is it.

He crumples, cries tearing out of him, teeth clenched, tears blurring his vision. ''Fuck you,'' he tells the body, voice broken and angry all at the same time. ''Fuck you for clawing your way into me the way you did and fuck you for leaving me like this.'' He crosses the room to get to her and kisses her lips, and then her cheek, and then her other cheek. Over and over, he kisses her cheeks and her lips and the tip of her nose and her hair and her neck, murmuring _fuck you, fuck you, I love you, I'm sorry, fuck you_ , and somewhere along the way, while he's kissing and kissing and kissing and she's stillstillstill, he makes a decision.

She's been though a lot. She's been through _enough_. She should be able to rest now.

.

.

.

Sam, Cas and Charlie are the ones who find him, standing at the foot of her bed, shaking, trying to memorize every little thing about her.

Of course they are. It was never going to be anyone else.

Sam says his name in a single breath, ''Dean.''

Dean says, for the first time, ''My wife isn't going to wake up.'' He turns to face him and he's not sure what they see in his eyes, but it must be devastating because Cas sucks in an audible breath and Charlie starts crying into her hands. Dean's first instinct is to pull himself together and comfort them, but he doesn't. He turns back to his wife, tilts his head to the side and tries to make sense of the words that are about to leave his mouth. ''I...'' He pauses, forehead wrinkling in confusion. Their fourth anniversary is next month. Four years is linen. He should be thinking, _what the fuck am I supposed to get her? Fucking sheets? This is stupid_. Instead, he's thinking, _my goddamn wife won't stop_ _dying and I don't know what to do. I think I've forgotten who I am without her_. ''I won't be a husband anymore,'' he says.

A second passes, and then another and another, and then he dissolves.

Charlie drops her bag and rushes over to hug him.

Dean thinks, _I wish my mom was here._

.

.

.

When he tells her parents about his decision, Dinah lets out these wracking sobs of both relief and sorrow, and Quentin pulls him into his arms and holds him there for a long time like he's expecting Dean to cry on his shoulder. Sara doesn't hug him, or try to touch him in any way, which he is grateful for, she just thanks him and apologizes and keeps apologizes until he tells her that he doesn't want her apologies and that this isn't about her.

That's the easy part.

Telling Sin is the hard part.

He and Sara tell her together, when she arrives at the hospital after class. They take her down to the hospital cafeteria, sit across from her at a table in the back, away from other people, and they tell her, very calmly, very gently, that they're going to take Laurel off of life support.

Sin punches Dean in the face, calls him a weak, gutless bastard, screams at Sara that it should have been her, and runs.

''I think,'' Dean starts, while Sara is pressing napkins to his bleeding nose and a nurse's bony fingers are tilting his head back, ''that went better than I thought it would.''

''Hey,'' Sara says with a weak smile. ''At least we're in a hospital, right?''

Dean lets out a watery laugh. ''Yeah,'' he mutters. ''Guess that makes me the lucky one.''

.

.

.

Dean won't let them do it without Laurel's entire family there, which means they have to wait Sin out. She's holed up at Thea and Roy's place and she refuses to see anyone, especially Dean, and she's not picking up her phone. The news of what's about to happen travels fast, and people start filtering in to say their goodbyes. Joanna, Helena, Felicity, Diggle, Moira Queen stops by to see Dinah and Quentin, Cas, Charlie, Sam, Jody Mills calls to check on Dean...

Three days after Sin ran, Dean is at the coffee machine yet again, when the elevator doors open. Sin is standing there, standing just behind Thea and Roy. She looks pale and small. Dean holds his breath. There are two ways this could go. Either Sin is here to say goodbye. Or she's going to sic Roy and his stupid super strength on him. Dean stands straight and keeps his eyes on Sin. Thea's eyes are bloodshot and puffy and she's sniffling. Roy looks pale. Dean still keeps his eyes on his girl. Roy is the first one out of the elevator. Sin doesn't move. Thea takes her hand. ''I-It's... It's okay,'' Roy tries awkwardly, gesturing for Sin to follow him.

''There is nothing about this that is _okay_ ,'' Sin says, but steps off the elevator with Thea.

Dean holds his breath.

Sin doesn't punch him again. She lets go of Thea's hand, races forward and launches herself into his arms. She's lost weight. She's always been skinny, but she's barely skin and bones now. ''I'm sorry,'' she cries into his shirt. ''I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have hit you. I'm sorry. And you're not weak. You're not. You're stronger than all of us. You kept her here. I'm sorry.''

''Ssshh, hey, sweetheart, it's okay.''

''It's not okay,'' she wails. ''It's not okay.''

He doesn't know if she's talking about what she said or the situation in general. ''No,'' he agrees. ''It's not okay. But it's happening, Sin.''

She nods against his chest. ''I know.''

''Hey,'' he pulls her away from him. Behind her, Thea's shoulders are shaking and her face is pressed into Roy's red hoodie and Roy's fists are clenched, eyes on the ground. ''It's you and me now, kid,'' Dean tells Sin. He tries to smile for her. He's not sure he succeeds. But he tries. ''Okay?''

She nods, wiping at her eyes. ''You and me,'' she agrees. ''And sometimes Sara.''

He sighs. ''...And sometimes Sara,'' he relents.

''We're gonna be great,'' she says firmly. ''We're gonna be great for Laurel.''

Dean's heart is in his throat. ''For Laurel,'' he chokes out, and smiles.

''Sin?''

Sin turns around. Sara is standing in the doorway of Laurel's room, holding onto the doorframe. She looks like she's seen a ghost. Sin clears her throat. She shuffles over to Roy and Thea, kisses them both on the cheek, whispers something in Thea's ear, and then goes over to Sara and wraps her arms around her.

.

.

.

''This sucks,'' Thea tells Dean, right before she and Roy leave. Her nose is running and her cheeks are wet with tears, but she still looks remarkably composed and her voice is still steady. Sometimes Thea Queen reminds Dean so much of Laurel that it hurts to look at her.

''It blows,'' he nods.

''You know,'' she sniffles. ''Laurel was the one who taught me how to ride a bike.''

Dean folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. ''Really?''

''Yep,'' she swipes at her cheeks with the back of her hand. ''Her and Oliver. She was always nice to me. She always believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself. She's one of the reasons why I decided to get my act together. Working with her at CNRI... She made me want to be better.''

''That's my girl,'' he says. ''She did that a lot.''

''I'm sorry we drifted apart,'' Thea says strongly. ''But I'm glad I knew her. And I'm glad you loved her. You...'' She pauses, teeth sinking into her lower lip. ''You made her so happy,'' her voice cracks, just a little. ''I know she loved my brother, I know that, but when I saw you two together... I don't think she ever loved anyone the way she loved you.''

''Well, I've...never loved anyone...the way I love her,'' he says slowly, without breaking ''so that's nice to hear. Thank you, Thea.''

She smiles and leans up to give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.

''Hey,'' Roy catches her arm as she's stepping into the elevator. ''Listen, I'll meet you at the car, okay? I just have to talk to Dean for a minute.'' He smiles, charming as ever, and she looks confused, but nods. He waits until the elevator doors close and then he turns to Dean and takes in a deep breath. He burrows his hands into his pockets. ''He'd let you,'' he says.

Dean tenses.

''If you don't do it, he might do it himself.''

''Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?''

''No,'' Roy shrugs. ''Just... Oliver's... He's got a beard now. Like mountain man beard. You've got a pretty gnarly beard going on, but his goes down to here,'' he holds his hand out to just below his throat. ''It's pathetic. And he, uh, he stinks. Because he rarely showers and he drinks. A lot. He kinda drank Verdant. He goes out every night looking for fights. He's trying to commit suicide by vigilantism.''

''Kid - ''

''Look, I just want to know if you're gonna do it or not. You said - '' He tries to control his breathing. ''You said if she... You said you would go all supervillain on us and I just want to know... If that's still a thing that's going to be happening.''

Dean narrows his eyes. He thinks about it. It would be satisfying. It would be so satisfying. But that man... The man who would do those things. That's not the man Laurel married and he's trying - he's trying so damn hard - to keep being that man, even if she's not here. He has Sin. He has Helena and Sara and Sam and Cas and Charlie. And he has to be both Dean and Laurel for them now. _God is cruel_ , he remembers, _sometimes he makes you live_. His lips curl up into a gruesome smile and he takes a step closer to Roy. ''God is cruel, Roy, and so am I. You tell him he's going to live a long, healthy life. Death is too easy. Death would be wasted on him. You tell him he's going to wake up every single day with her blood on his hands. You tell him he's going to live with Tommy and Laurel and everyone else he's killed whispering in his ear every night. I'm not gonna waste a bullet on Oliver Queen, Roy. I'm gonna make sure he lives.'' He leans in closer. ''Laurel is going to die tonight, and he's gonna have to live with himself for a long time. And trust me, that's worse than death.''

Roy, despite his literal super powers and his monumental anger issues, looks petrified.

''Now, if you'll excuse me,'' Dean says, ''I have to go watch my wife die.''

.

.

.

Dean hasn't had a moment alone with his wife since he made the decision to take her off life support.

Aside from the steady stream of people coming to say their goodbyes, her family has not left her side since he made the call. So when the doctor takes them into the hall to explain to them what's going to happen, Dean stays behind. He's already been told what to expect. He doesn't need to hear it again. Her mother and her sister have done her hair and makeup. Her stringy, limp hair has a little bounce and her colorless lips are painted red. It looks a little ridiculous, but Dean wasn't about to tell her inconsolable mother to stop.

It doesn't matter.

She's still the most gorgeous person he's ever seen.

''Well,'' he starts. He doesn't know how to finish. ''You always did want to meet my mother,'' he finally says. His attempts to laugh at his own joke go terribly wrong. ''You know, beautiful,'' he tells her. ''I should have told you this, but I've loved our life together. Every second of it. Even all of the bad shit. I loved every part of it. I love every part of you. I've...'' He stops. Clenches his jaw. Licks his lips. ''I've met a lot of amazing people in my life. But you... You were extraordinary.'' His voice catches and a weight slams into his chest again. He keeps going. ''You made it easy. The whole love thing. I've never been good at it. But I love you. I love you so much, Laur.''

He brushes a strand of hair away from her face. ''You've been so brave,'' he tells her. ''And strong. You did good, baby, you did so good. You've been fighting so hard. I'm so proud of you. Everyone is so proud of you. But I don't... I don't want you to have to...'' There is an ache in his throat that won't go away and a space in his heart that he can't fill. ''I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't get to you in time. I'm sorry I couldn't...'' He draws in a rattling breath. ''I'm sorry I couldn't save you. And I'm sorry for keeping you here like this. Dulled.'' He shakes his head and looks down at her wedding ring. ''This isn't you. You should be free. I don't - I don't know if this is what you want. Maybe you want to be here? I don't - I don't know. There's no way to know. Maybe I am just a weak, gutless bastard. Maybe I'm just doing this because I can't stand to look at you like this. I just don't want you to be in pain anymore.''

He takes her hand in his and runs his thumb over her wedding ring. ''I'll hold your hand,'' he gets out somehow, around the ache in his throat. ''I promise, I'll hold your hand.''

He never does say the word _'goodbye.'_

.

.

.

When he had caught her as she fell that night, after Slade had pulled the blade out of her stomach, she hadn't said much. She was in shock and she was confused and in pain and choking on her own blood. ''No,'' she kept saying. ''No, no, no, please, please, no. I don't want to,'' she had sobbed. ''I don't want to go. Please don't let me go.'' And when she saw Sin, she had whispered, ''don't let her see me like this,'' a plea that, unfortunately, came a little too late.

But when they were in the back of the Impala, racing to the hospital, with her head in Sin's lap and Dean's strong, capable hands doing his best to keep pressure on the wound, she had... It seemed like she had reached acceptance. ''It's okay,'' she had said, while Sin sobbed and Dean kept barking at her to stay awake. ''I-It's okay, I'm...okay,'' she said, even as tears slipped out of her eyes. ''I-It's g-going to b-be okay. Y-You're going to...to be o-okay.'' And she had lifted one bloodied hand, looked Dean straight in the eye and pleaded, ''H-Hold... Hold m-my hand?''

He hadn't held her hand in the car that night, and he hadn't let go since.

.

.

.

It happens quietly.

He's not sure why, but Dean hadn't pictured it being as quiet as it is. There's a lot of waiting. After she is taken off life support, they all just kind of sit around waiting for her to fade. It'll be just like going to sleep, they are told. He thinks that is the worst thing he has ever heard. Actually, no. The worst thing he's ever heard is when they take out the breathing tube and she makes this...this distressing gasping noise like she's fighting to stay. It continues for at least a full minute before she goes quiet. Apparently he's not the only one who thinks it is the worst sound anyone has ever heard. As soon as Laurel goes quiet, Sara stumbles over to the trash can and throws up.

It's a long night.

Quentin alternates between weeping silently and whispering over and over again, ''I love you, my good girl, I love you.'' Dinah cries for hours, stroking Laurel's hair and whispering apologies. Sara, unable to sit still, paces the room. Sin sits with her head on the bed, one hand gripping Laurel's leg, watching her like a hawk.

And Dean holds her hand. Just like she asked him to. He doesn't let go. He holds her small hand in his much larger ones and kisses it again and again and again.

Laurel leaves quietly. One minute, she's there, struggling to breathe, heart rate decreasing, and the next, she's gone and the only sound is the soft sound of her flatlining as her exit music. A moment goes by and then the nurse swoops in to check on Laur - on the body. The second the doctor calls time of death and turns off the heart monitor, Dinah lets out this gut wrenching wail, a kind of wail that Dean has never heard before, and collapses to the ground. Quentin goes with her, crouching down beside her and pulling her into his arms. Sin lets Sara wrap her up and pull her up, away from the body.

Dean is still holding Laurel's hand. He can't let go.

He kisses the back of her hand one last time.

Dean is still holding Laurel's hand when he hears it. It's worse than the quiet little gasping noise. No, this is a louder gulping, desperate sort of gasp. Dean lifts his eyes to Laurel. She is still and quiet. Until she's not. It happens again; the gasping. This time, he sees her do it. Her mouth opens and she gasps. She does it again and her body practically lifts off the bed, desperate for oxygen.

''Laurel?'' Quentin's voice is a croak. ''Laurel,'' he hovers over her, hands moving to her face. ''Laurel,'' he says again, and keeps saying it, like a mantra, or a prayer. ''Laurel, Laurel, Laurel, Laurel.''

Dean stands up, peering down at his wife. ''Laur?'' Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the doctor whisper something to the nurse and the nurse, wide-eyed, races out of the room. ''Laur, sweetheart, can you hear me?''

The hand that he's holding in his own twitches, the gasping grows louder and louder, and her eyes snap open. There is a second of this unbelievable relief and shock pulsing through every single person in the room. Laurel's mouth opens in this silent scream and pain clouds over in her eyes.

And then she screams.

It's the most pain filled thing Dean has heard in a long time, possibly since Hell, and it's his wife who is in pain. He tries to talk to her, he tries to hold her down and help her, but she can't hear him over the sound of her screams. In between screams, she is sobbing in pain and ranting incoherently. The doctor is trying to look over her, but she's fighting him, body convulsing and shaking. Her screams get louder. They get louder and louder and louder, until the doctor starts backing away from her and Quentin is grimacing in pain. The sound of the scream fills every space in the air and keeps getting louder, until it reaches this inhuman volume, until it doesn't even sound like a scream anymore, until it sounds like some sort of dying bird.

Dean isn't sure how he knows what's about to happen, but he does and he reacts on instinct, grabbing onto Sara and Sin and pulling them away from the window seconds before every piece of glass in the room explodes and shatters. Dean shields Sin's body with his own, hands clapped over her ears. The noise dies down to a mere ringing in his ears and he sets Sin straight and whirls around to Laurel.

The bed is empty.

Laurel dies quietly.

She wakes with a scream.

.

.

.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then she became Black Canary.
> 
> I CAME SO CLOSE TO KILLING HER FOR REAL. BUT I COULDN'T DO IT. That's why the ending is so...rushed. I changed my mind at the last minute. This story probably isn't as clean as I'd like it to be, so I'm planning on going back and cleaning it up at some point, but other than that, I'm pretty happy with it.
> 
> Oh, and it wasn't mentioned but the reason she woke up and suddenly had her Canary Cry? Is because she has some sort of supernatural gene that laid doormant until her death. The same gene that her maternal grandmother had, but it skipped her mother. This way she is not only connected to Arrowverse but also SPNverse. I've thought a lot about this. I'm probably going to be doing a follow up for the next UW.
> 
> Speaking of the next UW... Honestly, I'm thinking I might do one next week. I really like this 'verse and I really want to do a follow up.


	15. A Note from the Author

Okay, guys.

I can't apologize enough for this, but... Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put this collection on a temporary hiatus for the month of April. No, this is not an April Fool's Day joke. I wish I could say it was. Nothing major has happened. I'm fine. It's just that the month of April is always a busy month in my family. There is always something going on in April. This means I don't have a lot of free time for writing and the free time that I DO get to write, I'd like to spend it writing You Are a Hurricane and some of my original fiction. (I also have another story that I've been neglecting since October and I think some people are getting a little impatient, so I'd like to try and get a chapter of that out.)

I also have to apologize for not going out with a bang. I had hoped that I would have the follow up to ''God is cruel'' ready for this, so that at least I could leave you guys with that, but sadly, it's only about half finished. And then I sat down today and tried to write a super sappy and fluffy quick little thing to leave you with some warm and fuzzies, but nothing came out.

Before anyone throws any rotten tomatoes at me, let me just put an emphasis on TEMPORARY. This is a TEMPORARY hiatus.

I will be back on May 7th with new Dean/Laurel adventures and new happy endings for these two wonderful characters who deserve so much better than the garbage they are put through. 

In the meantime, thank you all for taking a chance on this couple and this collection. Thank you all for reading and commenting. Just THANK YOU. I love you all.

And I'll see you in May!

\- Becks Rylynn


	16. Underdogs Wednesdays #15: OTP meme

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, HI, HELLO, UW READERS!
> 
> I am so glad to be back! I have missed these two! I've had a nice month of rest - writing wise anyway - but I'm ready to get back to this collection and these two cuties!
> 
> Suggested Listening: Hurricane by Midnight Cinema, Here With Me by Robert Koch and Susie Suh, Love Me Like I'm Not Made of Stone by Lykke Li, We Are Stars by The Pierces, and Sound of Pulling Heaven Down by Blue October.

**/xv/**

.

.

.

**who's the messiest one:**

It would have to be Laurel.

She's not even that messy, really. Sure, she has this annoying habit of leaving her shoes in random places, and she often spreads out work papers on the coffee table and doesn't clean them up, and she procrastinates putting laundry away, and the constantly forgetting to use a coaster thing is SUPER FUCKING ANNOYING, but she's not a slob.

It's just that Dean is a massive neat freak.

And it's only gotten worse since he got that label maker for Christmas.

Oooh, okay, now that's a funny story. Allow me to tell it.

Oliver got Dean's name in the Birds of Prey/Team Arrow Secret Santa exchange that Thea and Sin set up for some sort of team building thing. The poor guy was so completely lost, because Dean and Oliver are not and will never be extremely close. They can barely stand to watch the superbowl together at Diggle and Felicity's place because apparently the superbowl is serious business and sometimes Dean chooses to root for the other team just to piss Oliver off.

So, anyway, Oliver got Dean a label maker for Christmas.

...Oliver's not really great at giving gifts, okay?

There was a point where he wasn't bad at getting the women in his life presents because he could always fall back on jewelry, but Thea, Laurel, Felicity and Moira get earrings _every_ Christmas and a necklace for _every_ birthday and it's just getting old now.

When Oliver came back with the label maker, Diggle wrinkled his nose, arched an eyebrow and stared, judging Oliver silently for, like five minutes straight, Sam told Oliver that he could have come to him if he needed help with Dean's present, and Thea told him he was pathetic, took his credit card and went out and bought Dean a weirdly expensive tie, gift wrapped it and put Oliver's name on it. But Oliver was very adamant that he also give Dean the label maker because _I spent time picking that thing out, Thea, and the lady said it was top notch._

_A top notch label maker is still a fucking label maker, you big dork,_ Thea said. _What does Dean need a fucking label maker for? To label his boxes of arts and crafts supplies? He's not a kindergarten teacher._

Oliver still gave Dean the label maker, against Thea's wishes. She was embarrassed.

Dean liked the tie. He _loved_ the label maker.

And that's the story of how Dean and Oliver became best label maker friends. ...Well. That's the story of how Dean and Oliver learned to tolerate each other and not deliberately piss each other off.

Meanwhile, Laurel hates that fucking label maker. She tried to ''accidentally'' break it one day, but apparently it's indestructible and now everything in their house has labels like, _sage, rosemary, salt, pepper, garlic powder, cinnamon, paprika, that spice that smells like armpit I don't remember what it's called I think it starts with a C_ , one time Laurel woke up and there was a label stuck to her head that said, _meet me for lunch at rosie's 1:30_ and one stuck to her cheek that said, _love you_ , and then there was that one infuriating time that she opened the fridge to get some milk for her cereal only to find a label on the milk carton that said, _this is empty._

She has forgiven Oliver for a lot of things, but she will never forgive him for the label maker.

.

.

.

**who feels the most uncomfortable about pda:**

Yeah, see, here's the thing: Dean and Laurel are probably the cuddliest motherfuckers you ever did meet. They are that one obnoxious couple you know who never stop touching. Charlie says that their cuteness cancels out the obnoxiousness of it all, but Sin says that it really just means that they are both nauseating and adorable all at the same time, which makes it confusing.

Laurel may seem like a wallflower in some ways, maybe a little standoffish and private, but she's always been touchy feely. This is only amped up when she is in a relationship. But when she was with Oliver, he used to find this quality of hers a tad grating. He was always pulling his hand out of hers or removing her hand from around his waist, especially in public, when they were around other women (in hindsight that should have tipped her off to some stuff that was going on). It always left her feeling badly about herself. Like maybe she wasn't good enough. Or maybe she was too clingy. Oliver has since apologized for this. Profusely, actually. He has assured her that it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with him. He was an asshole back then, that's all. It wasn't her. She was wonderful. She was the greatest girlfriend. He just didn't appreciate it.

Still.

His reactions to her touching him stuck with her and there was always this nagging voice in the back of her head reminding her, _don't be clingy, don't be clingy._

So she was very conscious about it. Not just with romantic partners, but with friends, with family. She never hugged for too long, and she always hesitated before touching anyone. When she was with Tommy, she worked so hard to be the exact opposite of clingy. She never touched him unless he touched her first. If they held hands, he was the one who took her hand first and it was rarely in public. When they were at parties, she kept a safe distance between them so as to give him his space. Cuddling was always initiated by him. She thinks about that sometimes. How she wishes she had touched him more. She worries her insecurities made her come off as cold to him. She worries he didn't know. She worries he didn't know how much she loved him.

When she starts dating Dean, in the beginning, she does the same thing. _Don't be clingy_ , that nasty voice in the back of her head tells her, so she moves away from him instead of scooting closer to him, and it starts eating away at her. She doesn't like feeling like she's made of stone. She just plain doesn't like not touching her boyfriend. Slowly, she starts touching him more. She runs her fingers through his hair and scrapes her fingernails over the back of his neck gently when she walks past him on her way to the kitchen, winking when he turns to look at her. She puts her hand on his knee when they go out to dinner with Felicity and Diggle. She tangles her legs with his and rests her head on his chest when they're in bed, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. She threads her fingers through his when they leave the movies. She slips her arm through her and leans the side of her cheek against his shoulder when he comes to pick her up from work.

It feels nice. It feels right.

He never pulls away from her. He never removes her hand or steps away from her. As it turns out, he is even more touch starved than she is. He's always game to hold her hand, no matter where they are. He pulls her closer to him in his sleep. His always draped around her shoulders when he sits down next to her on the couch. He rubs her back when she's tired. He kisses her on the cheek, he kisses her on the forehead, on the crown of her head, her shoulder, her hand... It's like he's afraid if he doesn't touch her, she'll disappear. Or like touching her helps to remind him that she's real.

Dean Winchester is a cuddle monster.

He's like this physically large, rough and tumble, gruff, let's-face-it-kind-of-surly guy and yet he's secretly this big teddy bear of a man with a heart of gold who loves cuddles and is not afraid to be obnoxious and cheesy with her.

It's really kind of amazing.

.

.

.

**who's the funniest drunk:**

There is absolutely nothing funny about when they drink. Because it means that they've relapsed.

Dean's hands shake when he drinks.

Laurel cries herself to sleep when she drinks.

And they're both emotional drunks. Sometimes this means tears, sometimes yelling, sometimes they just wind up being cruel, mean drunks - usually to each other - and sometimes it means drunk, sloppy sex.

It's not funny when they drink.

It just means detoxing and letting their sponsors, each other and themselves down.

.

.

.

**who texts the most:**

Dean recently discovered emojis. So. That should tell you.

Neither one of them are big on texting, honestly. Laurel prefers phone calls. Texting feels impersonal. And useless. And she hates how young people are so annoyingly reliant on texting and only texting. She will never forget that one time, in the clock tower, when Sin looked up at her and said, _you know, there should really be text messaging with your voice. Like it's a text message but the other person hears it in your voice. That would be really cool._

Helena, Laurel and Sara looked at her for a long time before Helena finally said, dryly, _you mean like a phone call?_

And then Laurel spent the rest of the day feeling like she had failed as a quasi-parent.

Dean texts when he needs to, but gets frustrated by the way everything comes out looking garbled because his fingers are too big for the tiny keys. It makes him feel self-conscious about the size of his fingers.

But back to the day he discovered emojis. That was certainly an...interesting day. It started with him sending Laurel a smiley face, a heart and a goat, which she took to mean he loved goats, which...she had some questions about. Shortly after that, he sent her a ninja and a piece of cake. The third text was just a bunch of laughing faces. The next text she got was from Sin and it said, _why did dean just send me a poodle, a palm tree, a santa claus and an eggplant? is this a clue? are we having a scavenger hunt? i love scavenger hunts. if we’re not having a scavenger hunt can we have a scavenger hunt? this is important to me._

_Sweetie,_ Sara said, when Laurel called Dean and put him on speakerphone, _did you discover emojis?_

His only answer was, _why would you ever need to send someone a tiny picture of a tiny cactus?_

_You're so old,_ Helena sighed, and went back to filing her nails.

_It's for fun,_ Laurel said, reaching over to pinch Helena on the arm. _I mean. I think. I don't know. I don't really find it fun. Clearly you do._

_Did you get to the one that's just a smiling poop?_ Sara giggled, bouncing up and down.

_Oh my god,_ sighed Helena. _I regret every life choice I ever made that led me here._

Dean said, _...what. I don't know what that means. Laur, what does that mean?_

And then Dean and Sara proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon sending each other stupid emojis. Because they both have the same sense of humor. It's nice that they have something in common.

On her way home from work, Laurel received an emoji of a piece of bacon and one that was...a piece of pie? Maybe? It was followed by a text that said, _that means pick me up some bacon for breakfast tomorrow and some pie. because pie._

Laurel has fallen in love with a twelve year old, apparently.

.

.

.

**who has the most embarrassing taste in music:**

Recently, Dean has transformed Laurel from a strictly top forty listener to a classic rock lover, which he is extremely proud of. And he doesn't want anyone to know this, but it's possible that Laurel has made him...appreciate top forty. A little. Just a little.

Also, show tunes. They both like show tunes.

Dean starts the day with _Don't Rain On My Parade_ in the shower, which Laurel is never to tell Sam about.

Laurel listens to the Chicago soundtrack while she's on her morning run.

.

.

.

**who reads the most:**

Both of them.

Dean's knowledge of literature is constantly surprising everyone around him. Everyone except Laurel. Dean never really minds that people don't peg him for a reader and are therefore surprised when he quotes Ham On Rye or gives a startlingly well rounded, well thought out argument on why Pride & Prejudice is an overrated love story. Laurel, on the other hand, is offended on his behalf every time someone is thrown by the fact that he knows The Bell Jar by heart and has the most thought provoking analysis on The Catcher in the Rye. He quoted The Odyssey in front of her father once and when Quentin blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to speak, Laurel silenced him with a single glare.

Her boyfriend is brilliant. Screw anyone who doesn't believe that.

They talk about books all the time. They get into spirited debates about Tolkien and Vonnegut and commiserate on all of the important and awesome scenes from the books that were left out of the Harry Potter movies.

The first time he met Dinah Lance, they got into a discussion about Mary Shelley and when she left for the night, she whispered in Laurel's ear, _if you don't marry him, I might just have to._

.

.

.

**who's better with kids:**

Oh, they're both amazing with kids. We all know this.

One time, after a case gone wrong, Team Arrow/Birds of Prey were left with a cute little toddler with a gummy smile, a stuffed bunny and Avengers footie pajamas. Oliver was like 'oh, hello, you're very small and I have no idea what to do with you,' Helena and Thea were worried about the stickiness that toddlers usually bring ruining their hair, Felicity and Sam were vehemently against any sort of diaper changing, and the rest of the teams were just...wary of the small, grinning toddler who seemed to appear as if from nowhere.

Dean and Laurel, on the other hand, were both pretty much over the moon. It was like Christmas had come early. Laurel bought Toys 'R' Us. Dean was like, 'let me put you on my shoulders and buy you all of the ice cream and then I'll tell you all of my Dad Jokes.'

The little girl (her name was Sunny) stayed with them for a week while they protected her from the assassins that had killed her father, taken her mother, and wanted her. Dean and Laurel put her to be every night. They read her stories, they sang to her, they had tea parties, they bought her basically anything she asked for, and they fell in love. Eventually, when Oliver and Diggle brought her mother home safe, she and her stuffed bunny went home. Dean and Laurel were left with The Little Mermaid sheets in their guest bedroom and a box full of toys that wouldn't be used.

That's the sad part. They're basically already parents; they just don't have a child. They're both great with kids and they both want it so much, but the chances of them ever having a child of their own aren't great. And they know this. They've tried for that. Several times. Her body fails her every time.

.

.

.

**who's the one that fixes things around the house:**

Dean.

Except for that one time when he kept putting off fixing the heater that kept turning on randomly because the hotter the house got, the more clothes Laurel shed. Once she figured out what he was doing, of course, she made him fix it. And then she took off all her clothes, walked around the house naked, and she let him look, but she didn't let him touch. It was a special form of torture. But, after that, he always fixed the heater when it was broken.

Laurel kills the spiders though.

Their biggest problem was the mouse that one time.

Basically, Sam came over one day and found Laurel sitting on the dining table, calmly sipping a mug of coffee, and Dean perched on the kitchen counter, reading a book.

_There's a mouse in the house,_ Dean said, without looking up, _and I don't think his name is Mickey._

_We're going to deal with it,_ Laurel said, _we just need...another minute. To compartmentalize._

Sam asked, _how long have you guys been - ''_ he stopped to gesture vaguely _'' - that?''_

There was a long pause and then Dean said, _well, what time is it now?_

Sam kicked them out of their own house while he dealt with the mouse. It was for the best.

.

.

.

**who's got the weirdest hobby:**

Well.

They run around at night as masked vigilantes. (And yes, yes, he does have his very own superhero costume. He hates it more than Laurel hates the label maker.)

So I think that's as weird as it's going to get.

Although they do have a garden in their backyard. They're super proud of it.

.

.

.

**who cooks and who cleans up:**

Dean does both. He insists on it. Laurel can't cook to save her life and everyone knows that (she gave both Dean and herself food poisoning when she tried to make him a birthday meal one year), so it makes sense that Dean is the chef in the family, but she is capable of cleaning up. But Dean is always, _no, you sit, rest up, watch that stupid show you like, finish that book you're reading so I can read it next, I've got this, don't worry about it, babe._

It's ridiculously sweet.

But it's also annoying.

And she tells him this.

It usually ends in a fight, which usually ends with her telling him she's not fragile and she's not going anywhere and she just wants to help him wash the dishes, _damn it, don't be Oliver, Dean_ , and him telling her that he's just trying to treat her right, _honestly, woman, you're so frustrating, why do I love you?_

And then they have sex on the kitchen floor and eat ice cream naked, so...

They must be doing something right, you know what I'm saying?

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was actually going to apologize for the crappiness of this, because I wanted to have an actual fic ready for the first UW in a month, but, um... I kind of like this??? I really enjoyed writing some fluff and humor for these two. Especially considering the last UW was so freaking depressing.
> 
> However, this was not what I was originally going to post today. I had a whole different idea. But it turned out to be a little...overly ambitious. Basically, it got long and it's not finished. It will be finished by either Saturday or Sunday night, which means... I will be posting a Dean/Laurel oneshot completely separate from this fic on the weekend!
> 
> Also, the follow up to 'God is cruel' is still a thing that's happening. It will be titled 'Bird song' and will be part of this collection. I just want to re-write it because the first version of it turned out disturbing and way darker than I intended.
> 
> Anyway, it's great to be back! I hope this was somewhat enjoyable! And I hope everyone liked Arrow tonight. Pardon my language but our girl is fucking awesome, isn't she?


	17. Underdogs Wednesdays #16: where did you sleep last night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. This is the longest UW I have ever done. This is actually the fic I was supposed to post the weekend after the last UW, completely separate from this collection. But then I wound up getting really into it and I decided that it works better here because it's going to work as sort of a Table of Contents. Some of these totally needed to be expanded on (7, 9, 14 and 20 demand full length versions, oh my god) and some of them (1, 3 and 18) would just be fun universes to play around in.
> 
> Also, definitely let me know in the comments which alternate lives you'd like to see fics about!
> 
> Also, HOLY SHITBALLS at last night's SPN finale. I hate it and I'm sad and I'm mad (SMAD, I'M SMAD) but I also wanna fic it so bad. I just feel like Laurel as Captain America and Dean as the Winter Soldier is super important and probably a thing I'll be exploring in the next five months.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize nor any of the poetry or lyrics featured here.

**where did you sleep last night?**

Twenty five lives Dean and Laurel never lived (and one they did)

.

.

.

_and the part where i push you_   
_flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks -_

.

.

.

**(1)**

_but i do know that i love you_   
_and i know that if you love me too_   
_what a wonderful world this would be_

In one world, there are no superheroes, and there are no monsters.

Dean Winchester and Laurel Lance are two totally normal people who meet at a coffee shop when their orders get mixed up. Numbers are exchanged, he doesn't wait three days to call, and their first date is a success. They make each other laugh. They make each other happy.

They date for two years. One day, in that very same coffee shop, he proposes to her. He tells her he wants to spend the rest of his life making her laugh. She says yes. A little over a year later, they have a spring wedding.

It's a gorgeous wedding.

He promises her the world. She promises him happily ever after.

Eventually, they have an army of little rugrats.

He's an engineer. She owns her own flower shop. They live in Southern California, near the beach. Their lives are hectic and busy, with work and kids, two dogs and a rabbit. One time, they forget their third child at home when they go on vacation and don't notice until they make their first gas station break, where there is a major freak-out among both parents. Another time, they forget their oldest son's birthday and he winds up running out of the house at midnight to go buy presents and party decorations while she jumps out of bed to go bake a cake. One Thanksgiving, the rabbit gets loose and the dog chases it through the house, up onto the dining room table and the turkey winds up being dragged away by the other dog while the cranberry sauce winds up splashed all over the littlest boy, who doesn't mind it all that much.

They spend every weekend at the beach, where she teaches the kids how to do a cartwheel and he plays soccer and builds sandcastles with them. The night before their children's birthdays, they stay up late and decorate the living room, blowing up balloons and wrapping presents, so the birthday boy or girl will have something just for them the morning of their birthday. He films Christmas morning and dance recitals and birthday parties and Easter egg hunts and the first day of school. She takes pictures of _everything._ Their daughters watch their wedding video over and over and over again.

Every night, no matter what, after the kids have gone to sleep, even if the house is a mess and the dishes need to be put away, even if they're fighting, or if there is no music, they dance together in the living room.

They are happy.

He dies in his sleep, at ninety three. When she dies less than a year later, in a hospital bed, surrounded by kids, grandkids, great grandkids, and even a great-great grandkid or two, no one is surprised. They were never meant to be apart in this world.

It's a good world. It's a good life.

.

.

.

**(2)**

_you're a ghost_

In one life, Oliver is a good boyfriend.

Laurel gets on the boat with him.

Dean never gets the chance to meet Laurel in this life.

.

.

.

**(3)**

_the woods are lovely, dark and deep_   
_and i have miles to go before i sleep_

Laurel gets on the boat.

When it goes down, Oliver goes down with it. Robert Queen kills the captain and himself to save her. Laurel survives five years on a deserted island with Slade and Shado. They train her to survive. Shado teaches her how to shoot an arrow, Slade teaches her how to fight, and they both teach her that no matter how broken you may seem, healing is always possible. Laurel Lance never does come home. At least not the Laurel Lance that got on that boat with her boyfriend. She's Black Canary now. There is no going back.

In this same life, Sam dies in Cold Oak.

Sam dies in Dean's arms and in this cruel world, Dean can't bring him back. The Crossroads Demon turns down his offer and refuses to bring Sam back. Dean is warped by this, shattered into so many pieces that he can't ever glue them back together again. He cuts himself off from the people who love him - from Bobby, Ellen, Jo - and in an effort to find some kind of meaning, he carves himself into a whole different kind of weapon. And that demon war on the horizon? He stops it all by himself. Dean Winchester becomes a bedtime story. A _warning._

They meet a year after she returns from the island, in Starling City.

Laurel has a sharp tongued, orphaned teenage girl living with her, Tommy has figured out her secret and refuses to let her do this on her own, despite the fact that he has very little combat skills and he's not an easy student, and Slade and Shado are living overseas, happy but worried about her and her crusade. Her father and Sara are still in the dark, although sometimes Laurel thinks Sara might know more than she lets on.

Dean has Charlie, who is incredibly excited about everything. She's really on there because she refuses to stop following him. Back in the beginning of their partnership (whenever he calls her a sidekick, she punches him in the throat), he kept trying to lose her, but she found him wherever he went, and she is flat out not intimidated or afraid of him at all, so he can't even pull a White Fang. Also, sometimes there's that stupidly sweet Southern vampire who also refuses to stay away.

Their bodies are covered with scars, but it's nothing compared to the scars on their hearts.

They meet for the first time on a rooftop, but the first time they see each other is two days earlier, in The Glades, when he takes out the four men that she was trying to interrogate. He's very adamant that he saved her life. She's very adamant that he was in her way. And then she chases him through the city.

''He was good,'' she tells Sin and Tommy, later that night. ''Especially at the rooftop jumping thing. He had gadgets.''

''We need more gadgets,'' Sin agrees.

''I recognized them,'' Laurel goes on. ''He's been spending time in Gotham.''

''Oh my god,'' Tommy moans. ''I fucking hate Batman. He's such a tool. And he's a baby. He's a whiny baby with muscles. You know who he reminds me of? Bruce Wayne. If there's anyone I hate more than Batman, it's Bruce Wayne.''

Laurel bites her lip and can't look him in the eye.

''Was he wearing a hood?'' Sin asks.

''...Yeah, how'd you - ''

Sin tosses a newspaper onto the table. ''Wild guess.''

Two days later, when Black Canary finally catches this new vigilante guy and subdues him long enough to pull the tacky hood off his face, the first thing she says is, ''Are you aware that the press is calling you the Red Hood?''

There's a pause before he says, ''That's a really stupid name,'' and then he twists her arm behind her back. ''What do they call you sweetheart?'' He asks, breath hot against her neck.

''Not sweetheart,'' she says, and flips him onto his back.

.

.

.

**(4)**

_tell me how ugly i am_   
_but that you'll always love me_

In one life, they are serial killers.

You don't want to know about that life.

.

.

.

**(5)**

_tell me there's some hope for me_   
_i don't wanna be lonely_   
_for the rest of my days on the earth_

In a world where everything is normal, there are no monsters or boat accidents or substance abuse, they meet in a library.

She's in her final year of law school and she's there for a study session. Her phone is turned off - she doesn't have time to deal with Sara's latest crisis in her love life right now and she refuses to be the one Oliver and Tommy call when they need to be bailed out of jail -, her hair is pulled up into this sloppy bun held together by a pencil, and she's wearing her thick, black rimmed glasses. Naturally, because her life is extra awful and apparently the universe hates her, this is when the hottest guy in the universe approaches her to ask for a pen. She is painfully embarrassed by the way she stammers nervously and nearly falls off her chair before she hands him the pen.

The blushing awkwardness kind of dries up when she watches what he does next. And what he does next is sit at the far end of the table she's sitting at, put his feet up on the table like an asshole, and chew on her pen while he absently circles apartments for rent in a newspaper. It's the pen chewing that really gets her. She hates pen chewing. It is her number one pet peeve. The feet on the table is disrespectful and douchey, but the _pen chewing_. And it's not even his pen!

She sits there for five minutes, squirming in her seat, trying her best to study and not look at him, and then she kind of snaps. It's a combination of annoyance because _fucking_ _pen chewing_ and stress because _fucking law school_. She stands up, marches over to him and proceeds to go off on him for chewing on her pen. By the end of her somewhat hysterical rant, she's apologizing because she's very tired and she's trying to cut out caffeine but it's going so horribly and she just really hates pen chewing, okay, and he's staring up at her, pen still held between his teeth, beaming like she's the most amazing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

He tells her he'll buy her a new pen. And a cup of coffee.

It's the beginning of something extraordinary.

.

.

.

**(6)**

_if it makes you happy_

Dean never leaves Lisa to go back to hunting. He loves Ben like his own. He has twin daughters with Lisa. They host barbeques and he's on the PTA. He never steps foot in Starling City.

In Starling City, Laurel chooses Tommy over Oliver. They get a puppy, they get engaged, they have a big wedding, and they have one son. She runs CNRI. He becomes Mayor. They are happy.

Dean and Laurel never know what they're missing.

.

.

.

**(7)**

_i want you to know you're the best part of me_

In one of these lives, Dean is Sara's boyfriend, _before._

They meet at a bar in The Glades. She's underage with a fake ID. He's the bartender who sees right through her. For some reason, they hit it off. He loves her. She does not love him. Not as much as she should.

Here's the thing: Dean is not a bad boy. He is a sweetheart who treats Sara like she put the stars in the sky. He helps Dinah carry in groceries and helps Quentin make dinner. But he is rough around the edges, all leather jackets and ripped jeans, drives a muscle car, works and lives in the worst part of town, and speaks gruffly, sometimes without proper grammar. Plus, he's older. Six years older. And so Sara uses him as her bad boy phase. He is her number one weapon in her constant quest to get a rise out of her family.

It works, too. Quentin hates Dean and treats him accordingly. Dean takes this with the ease of a man who is used to being treated like shit. Dinah is never fully comfortably around him, tiptoeing her way through conversations with him awkwardly. He accepts this without complaint and doesn't try to suck up to her.

Laurel never once treats him like he is less than her, because she doesn't believe he is.

Dean quotes Charles Bukowski and The Odyssey. He knows the law. He knows the law like a law student knows the law. He built a car once. No, seriously, he _built_ a car once. Dean Winchester is a literature savvy ex-law student who works two jobs, one as a bartender and one as a mechanic, so he can help put his brother through Stanford. He lives in the roughest part of town because that's where the alcoholic, emotionally abusive father he just can't seem to break free of lives.

At dinner, while Sara is texting, Quentin is glaring and Dinah is uncomfortable, Laurel is the one who engages Dean in friendly conversation. They get into a spirited debate about Vonnegut, whether or not The Great Gatsby is overrated, and the first amendment.

The truth is... Laurel worries about Dean. Sara cares about him, that much is obvious, but she doesn't love him. She doesn't treat him the way he deserves to be treated. Laurel is so worried about Dean being Sara's doormat that she fails to realize she has become Oliver's doormat.

When the Queen's Gambit goes down, taking Oliver and Sara with it, Dean and Laurel are left alone with grief, betrayal...

...and each other.

Five years later, after his miraculous return, Oliver Queen is left hiding in a fire escape, watching the love of his life laugh comfortably with her best friend, Detective (and _that_ particular plot twist is going to be a major pain in the ass for Oliver, he can already tell) Dean Winchester as they debate over what to get for dinner.

It's unexpected.

It really shouldn't be.

.

.

.

**(8)**

_put on the suit. let's go a few rounds_

In one very different life, they're Marvel instead of DC and CW.

And Dean sings America, the Beautiful whenever she enters a room.

This is not at all what Laurel expected her life would be like when she was younger, growing up in Brooklyn with Sara, a weak little thing with asthma. And it's not just the superhero thing either. She's gotten used to that. It's the whole _engaged to Iron Man_ thing. It's the whole _engaged to Mary Winchester's_ son thing. This isn't what she thought would happen.

But then Dean will look at her, just...look at her. During family movie night, in the middle of a briefing, while he's tinkering with whatever he's working on in his workshop, and she'll just... _know_. Despite his arrogance and his sometimes overtly mean jokes, despite his recklessness and the fact that he thinks she's too soft sometimes, too nice, Dean is a good man and Laurel is supposed to be here. She is supposed to be right here, in this time, with him.

This is not what she expected from life.

It's far better.

.

.

.

**(9)**

_i heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?_

There's one world where Dean is the lawyer and Laurel is the hunter.

He runs a legal aid office with his best friend, Castiel, he has a complicated, tense relationship with his ADA younger brother, an even more complicated relationship with his Police Chief mother, a totally non-existent relationship with his flighty, absentee father, and he has this nasty habit of, like, getting kidnapped by people who want to use him as bait for the vigilante. Which is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Just because he's helped her a few times and maaaybe, at one point, had a little bit of a crush on her doesn't mean they have some sort of epic love or anything. He doesn't even know who she is. I mean, there was this brief period where Bela was suspected because the vigilante did happen to show up right as she returned home, but honestly, Bela Talbot a hero? _Please._

You know, just once, Dean would like to have a relationship that isn't complicated.

She's the righteous woman. And her life sucks. When she and Sara were kids, their father died under freaky circumstances and their mother raised them to be warrior women. This is great and all. All women should be warriors. She knows the world needs people like her. But it's kind of a lonely life. She has died more times than she can count, as has Sara, they're apparently the only ones responsible for saving a world that continues to do nothing but step on them, and ever since Tommy died, their only sidekick is Helena, who, yes, is a badass angel, but she's also really prickly and hard to have a conversation with. All Laurel really wants is a normal life. She wants to take a break from apocalypses and angels and demons and running through Purgatory for a year ruining her new leather jacket with John Diggle, the sweetest vampire.

The closest she ever got to that was the year she spent with Oliver and his son, Connor, after Sara pulled a Buffy and did a swan dive into Hell to save the world, and she _knew_ that wouldn't last.

Their paths aren't meant to cross in this life. It's not written down. It's not fate.

Laurel has never been much for fate or what is written.

Somehow, some way, they still fall in love.

.

.

.

**(10)**

_you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness_

In one life, they meet in AA.

He needs a sponsor.

She takes a chance.

It's not a conventional love story in any way whatsoever, and it's never easy, but it works for them. They are each other's light in the darkness.

.

.

.

**(11)**

_i see nothing worse than to sail this world without you_

Dean is a nomadic hunter.

Laurel is a lawyer in Starling City.

They still meet. They still fall in love.

They're together for about five years. She runs Birds of Prey (a legitimate business, thank you very much) with Helena and Sara. He works at a garage in downtown Starling City and is mostly retired from hunting. They have a real life together. They have a fucking puppy, for goodness sake. They're happy. He is finally getting his chance at a normal life, aside from when he helps her out with her night time activities every now and then. She is finally getting her chance to be the hero we all know she can be. It's like living a dream.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she is always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Somewhere, deep down inside, he is always waiting to wake up and be right back where he was five years ago, stuck inside a living nightmare. They both spend so much time preparing for the worst. But that's the thing about life, you see. No matter how much time you spend preparing for the worst -

\- you are _never_ prepared.

The Birds have enemies. That's just one of the risks of being a vigilante. Moves have been made against them before. But they're always one step ahead of the villains. Badass ladies get shit done, you know? In the years since the Birds have been active, they have taken down twice the amount of wrongdoers than Team Arrow did in two years. So, yes, of course they have enemies.

One night, one of those enemies decides to make a move.

They're in the clock tower for a meeting. Everyone's there. Laurel, Helena, Sara, Dean, Sin, Tommy and Quentin. Nothing really major is going on in the city right now, so it's a relatively relaxed meeting. They've got Team Arrow on speakerphone and Helena and Oliver are bickering quite viciously, which Tommy says is foreplay. Dean and Laurel are trying to find the time in their schedules to go visit Sam and Amelia in Texas.

Laurel is standing in front of the window, trying to figure out if taking a vacation in July is doable or if August would be better.

Everyone is busy with their own thing. Nobody sees the flash of the sniper rifle on the rooftop of the building across the street. Nobody except Dean. He spins Laurel around just in time to take the bullet for her. He's taller than her, the intended target, so the bullet misses his heart. This is not a good thing.

It just means he has a few minutes to choke on his blood before he dies in her arms.

.

.

.

**(12)**

_all that is beautiful_   
_but born to die_

Everything is the same as in #11, except for one major difference.

Dean doesn't notice the glint on the rooftop across the street.

There is a split second of confusion after the initial gunshot and Laurel's startled sounding gasp, someone starts to say _what the hell was that_ , and Dean is watching red spread across his wife's chest.

The bullet hits her heart.

She's dead before she hits the ground.

.

.

.

**(13)**

_i'm the blade_   
_you're the knife_

In one life, Dean is a hunter and Laurel is a lawyer, and they meet and they fall in love.

But they can't make it work. They try. They're together for two years. They're in love, but they love _too much_ and they drink _too much_ and it's all just _too much._

They love each other; they do, but sometimes love is not enough.

.

.

.

**(14)**

_i grow old and i forget your name_

He is born too early in one life.

She only finds out when she is eighteen years old and she has to do a history project on a World War II soldier. That's how she learns about Dean Winchester, an American soldier who fought in World War II. He's in a history book she finds in her father's study. When she decides to do her project on him, she's really only thinking about how this is fifty percent of her final grade for history and how she better do a damn good job. Naturally, because she is Laurel Lance and she always does 500% on her school work, she winds up getting in far too deep with Mr. Winchester. She spends _months_ working on the project, learning everything she can about him, falling headfirst into the life he lived, educating herself not only on what he did in the war but who he was as a person and the life he lived after the war. She even gets in touch with his family. She talks with his granddaughter through e-mail and is eventually contacted by his oldest child, Ben. Ben is a sweet, kind man and this soft, fragile kind of pride drips from every word when he talks about his father. He sounds grateful that the world hasn't forgotten about his father, the hero. He is quick to agree to help.

He sends her a box full of information. There are pictures, copies of love letters sent from Dean to his wife and her responses on paper that still smells faintly of lilac, letters for Laurel, written in neat handwriting all about the life Dean lived after the war, signed by his daughter. Laurel spends almost all of her free time learning about the handsome man in the pictures, with the eye crinkles and the toothy smile, and it's entirely possible that, at some point, she may develop something of a crush.

It's hard not to. He sounds like a great man.

Dean survived the war, she learns this. He survived and he went home a hero. His best friend, Castiel, the man standing beside him in the picture, arm slung around Dean's shoulders, came home in a body bag. Dean never got over this.

He married twice. His first marriage was to Lisa Braeden. They were only married for about five months before he enlisted, leaving her pregnant and alone while he went off to go fight. She died in childbirth. His second marriage, to a woman named Lydia, lasted ten years and produced a daughter, but ended in a bitter divorce. Emma, his daughter, tells Laurel that the marriage didn't last because Dean never got over his first wife. He never forgave himself for not being there when she was pregnant and when she died. Laurel is not surprised by this. She has copies of the correspondence between Dean and Lisa. When Lisa told him she was pregnant through a letter, his response was that he would do anything it took to get home to her. She had to beg him, in her next letter, not to go AWOL, promising him that she would be fine and that he was needed more where he was. A few months later, Lisa's mother wrote Dean to tell him that Lisa had passed away but that he had a son.

Laurel researches Dean until she feels like she knows him. She knows how he would react to things, she knows how he would speak, how he would stand, she knows his sense of humor, his unflinching loyalty, and she knows how deep he loves. She knows he was a devoted father, a loving brother, and she knows that he worshipped the ground his first wife walked on and tried so hard to love his second wife the same way but couldn't quite manage it. She immerses herself in Dean's life so thoroughly that people begin to worry about her. Oliver doesn't like any of this because Oliver is jealous, Sara straight up tells her that she has ''lost her fucking mind,'' and her father thinks she needs therapy. The only people who aren't worried about her are Tommy and her mother. Her mother says that she has ''an extreme amount of heart and an endless curiosity'' and that it's not anything to be worried about. ''Your heart is a gift,'' she is told.

Then, one day, during a phone call with Ben Winchester, he asks her, hesitantly, ''Would you like to meet him?'' She nearly drops the phone. Perhaps this is a gross oversight on her part but she hadn't actually been aware that he was still alive. ''Because he'd sure like to meet you.''

''He knows my name,'' Laurel tells Sara, later, while her mother is talking to Ben and her father is trying to argue that this is not a good idea.

Sara says, ''You need help. Seriously, you need _for real_ help, Laurel. You're falling in love with an eighty year old man. I am legitimately terrified for your mental health.''

''...He's ninety one, actually. And I'm not in love with him. I admire him.''

''No, Laurel,'' Sara says, and her voice is quiet this time, completely serious. ''You're falling in love with him. You think I don't know what you look like when you're falling in love? It's how you used to look whenever you talked about Oliver.'' She drops her nail file onto the table. ''What do you think is going to happen if you go see this guy? You think he's going to be the same young, hot dude in the pictures? You think he's gonna be your Prince Charming? And even if by some disgusting miracle he does magically fall in love with you, he's still going to be ninety one years old and you're still going to be eighteen.'' She shakes her head. ''Don't do this, Laurel. Don't meet this guy. I think it's a bad idea.''

Stubborn as ever, Laurel ducks her head down and goes back to studying for the SATs. ''Lucky for me,'' she mumbles, ''I don't care what you think.''

Sara stands, growls out, ''Those love letters weren't for you, Laurel. You're not Lisa.'' And then she spins on her heel and storms out of the room.

It's really only when she breaks up with Oliver before she leaves that she begins to think maybe there is something wrong with her.

When she meets Dean Winchester, he is no longer the young, handsome hero from the pictures. He is an old man now and he's fading slowly, life draining out of his eyes bit by bit, day by day, mind warped and mangled by Alzheimer's. He doesn't recognize his own children and can't remember his own name, but he remembers that he loves Lisa Braeden, and he remembers that he is sorry, that he is so very sorry. When he sees Laurel, young and beautiful, he thinks she is Lisa.

It's a truly ridiculous thought, but when she holds his shaking hands and pretends to be Lisa for him, she begins to wonder if, maybe, in some past life, she _was_ Lisa Braeden.

.

.

.

**(15)**

_until you're here_   
_i'm only wasting time_

In one life, Dean the hunter meets Laurel the lawyer outside a coffee shop in downtown Starling City while they are both between cases.

She's on her way in, he's on his way out, and they bump into each other. She loses her purse and the contents spill everywhere, lipsticks rolling away down the sidewalk, the screen of her phone cracking upon impact. His coffee is spilt all over his shirt and he starts cursing almost immediately, hissing at the onslaught of burning liquid. She apologizes profusely, cheeks reddening, but he waves it off with a small, tired smile and picks up her things for her. They buy each other a coffee and then they walk away.

She turns around once, just once, to watch him walk away. So does he.

They never see each other again.

.

.

.

**(16)**

_love me like fireworks_

They go to high school together, and Dean asks Laurel out before Oliver even has a chance to think about whether or not he likes that Lance girl.

Years later, when the Queen's Gambit goes down, she hears about it on the news. Laurel thanks God that Sara broke up with Oliver Queen when she did. She doesn't know what she would have done if Sara had been the one on that boat.

From the kitchen, Dean calls out, asking her what she wants for dinner.

.

.

.

**(17)**

_keep the nightmares out_   
_give me mouth to mouth_

Sara dies in one life.

There is no second chance. There is no miraculous return. There is only the tragedy of a young life cut short and a family left alone to deal with that grief in the only way they know how.

A few months later, while Laurel is trying to bury her grief, her anger, and her heartache in the law, strange things start happening. It starts with lights flickering in her apartment, so she replaces the light bulbs and goes back to studying. But things get worse. No matter how many times she changes the light bulbs, the lights keep flickering and the electrician she hires can't find a reason for it. She keeps losing things and finding them in the strangest places. Her furniture is completely rearranged when she wakes up one morning. And...

And then there's Sara. For awhile, Laurel is able to shrug it off as stress and grief, but she keeps seeing her everywhere. She's in her class, in her apartment, at the precinct when she goes to see her father during lunch hours, across the street when she gets home. Sara is everywhere. She's in Laurel's head. She's in her heart, in her bones, in her soul. Just flashes of her. Fragments. Pieces left behind.

Laurel is losing her mind. She's sure of it. It's the only explanation. She makes an appointment with a therapist and tries her best to keep it from her parents. They find out anyway and when they ask her about it, she has no choice but to tell them the truth. When she tells them that she's been seeing Sara, her mother drops her mug of tea and her father pales drastically.

Apparently it's not just her.

Dean and Sam Winchester, called in to investigate by an old friend of Dinah Lance's, are pretty sure the Lance family has a ghost problem. Laurel is honestly hoping that there's a gas leak and they're all just really sick and hallucinating or something. This whole thing is ridiculous. They're just grieving. Sometimes crazy things happen when you're grieving. Sometimes you see dead people because you're sad, not because there are ghosts. Ghosts aren't real. Which is exactly what she tells them, standing on her tip toes, with her hands on her hips, glaring up at Dean with narrowed eyes (damn them for giving her parents false hope that they will somehow see Sara again), right before the lights flicker and Sara's water logged corpse appears behind his shoulder.

It's not an extremely eventful case for Dean and Sam. Turns out, Sara just needed to apologize to her family before she moved on. Especially Laurel. It's nice, to be honest. It's good. The experience saves Dinah and Quentin's marriage, and it gives Laurel at least a little bit of closure.

It also changes the entire course of history.

Before Dean and Sam leave town, Laurel makes them sit down with her and tell her what's real in this world. Dean doesn't want to tell her, but Sam is quiet, calm and matter-of-fact about it, which definitely helps keep her from hyperventilating. Ghosts are real. Monsters are real. Demons, vampires, werewolves, fucking ghouls, they're all real.

Is she just supposed to ignore this? Is she supposed to ignore the fact that there is a war going on out there, or that any case in the system could be supernatural? Is she supposed to go back to her normal life after this? Because she's not sure how that's possible now.

Years later, Laurel is in Lebanon, Kansas when she gets the phone call.

She's sitting in the library of the Men of Letters bunker, perched on the sturdy wooden table, doing inventory. Her hair is still wet from the shower, she's wearing one of Dean's shirts, and she's got one eye trained on Dean and Sam, because they're currently having a sword fight with real swords and she's fully aware that if she doesn't watch them, there _will_ be blood. Cas, feet up on the table, is talking to a downright giddy Bobby, who can't wait to get his hands on all of the books, and he looks embarrassed just being in the same room as the two grown men having a sword fight. (She doesn't blame him, really. She's not positive, but she thinks Dean and Sam might also be pretending they're pirates.)

Laurel is in a good mood.

There is a scar above her eyebrow, given to her by Crowley two years ago right before she killed him, and her left pinky finger never quite healed right from that incident with the werewolf in Purgatory, but she's still alive and kicking, and she's a damn good hunter. She's smart, she's quick, she's efficient, and she's a woman, which means they don't expect her. They never see her coming. Crowley sure didn't. She gets results and she gets them fast. She is good at what she does.

She has just pulled an ancient porn magazine from the 50's out of a box (there really needs to be more women hunters, honestly, the sexism in this business is just out of control; Jody agrees with her) and wrinkled her nose when her phone buzzes in her pocket. It's her mother. ''Oliver Queen is alive,'' Dinah says, all in one rushed breath.

Laurel debates whether or not to go home for three days before she decides she's not going back to Starling City. She doesn't really need to see Oliver. Besides, that's not her life anymore. This - hidden bunkers, monsters and magic, Winchesters and Singers, angels and demons - is her life now.

.

.

.

**(18)**

_cosy in the rocket_

In one life, they're both trauma surgeons who terrify interns and frequently make out in on call rooms.

That life is a good one.

.

.

.

**(19)**

_i want you to tell me all the ways you've been unkind_

One night, when she is twenty, she is walking home in the dark, when this cloud of this black smoke rushes at her, forces itself down her throat, and Laurel gets so lost for so long.

Ruby dyes her hair.

She buys her a new wardrobe with Oliver's credit card. She tells her that she needs her help to save the world. Laurel knows it's a lie. Somewhere inside, she knows it's a lie. Ruby is bitter and angry and broken and seductive, and Laurel wants to badly to believe that she is good. There are moments, short little moments, where she actually does believe in Ruby. Where she actually does believe that her body is being used for something heroic. But Ruby is not the hero of this story. Laurel can feel that.

Dean and Sam Winchester aren't either.

She thinks they might save the world one day. But they don't even try to save her. She tries, you know. She tries so hard to scream for help when she meets them. She tries everything. She tries gaining control of an arm, a foot, her tongue. She tries to write a note. Once, for a second, she gains enough control to grasp desperately at Dean's arm before Ruby squashes her down. The Winchester brothers don't help her. They can't hear her, they can't hear her screaming and pleading with them to help her, and even though they damn well know there's an innocent girl trapped inside, they do nothing to help her.

_Nothing._

They are only heroes when they feel like it.

About a year after Ruby takes her, Laurel wakes up on the blood stained floor of the house in Pontiac, Illinois where Dean was ripped to shreds, bloody and blonde and _alone._

Her head is quiet.

Years later, Dean and Sam find their way into Starling City.

The first thing they do when they see her is try to kill her. She supposes she can understand this. All they see when they look at her is the woman who screwed them over. But you know what? All she sees when she looks at them is the men who failed her. And she is not helpless anymore. Her body is hers, her head is still quiet, and Laurel has changed. She is the Black Canary. She turned herself into a weapon because of Ruby, because of these stupid, foolish boys.

She wins the fight.

With Dean down on his knees in front of her, the tip of Ruby's knife pressed against his neck, Laurel says, softly, ''Tell me you're sorry. Tell me you're sorry you failed me.''

He swallows. ''I'm sorry.'' His voice is deeper than it was back when Ruby knew him, gruffer and harder, and yet there's a certain sort of softness to it that wasn't there before. He sounds genuinely sorry. It's not enough. ''Laurel,'' he meets her eyes. ''I'm sorry.'' Nothing will ever be enough.

She narrows her eyes. She considers him carefully. She hasn't asked how he's alive. She doesn't much care, to be honest. She pulls the knife back and watches as he lets out a breath. ''I'm not a killer,'' she says, voice just as quiet as his. ''I'm not her, Dean,'' she shakes her head. ''I don't know if you want me to be. But I'm not. I will never be her. Now,'' she places the knife back in his hand and steps away from him. ''Get out of my city.''

There's really no chance of love in this universe.

.

.

.

**(20)**

_she broke your throne, and she cut your hair_   
_and from your lips she drew the hallelujah_

There's one universe out there where Laurel Lance is dead. She's been dead for awhile now. She committed suicide years ago, after the boat went down. She was drunk, betrayed, angry, grieving, and depressed, and she saw no way out. She didn't see a light at the end of the tunnel. She didn't see a chance for happiness. And she just wanted some peace and quiet. She just wanted it to stop.

So she jumped off a bridge, into frigid water.

No one knows this, of course.

After all, she may not be the real Laurel Lance, but Ruby thinks she has done a damn good job of pretending for the past several years.

.

.

.

**(21)**

_ready for those flashing lights_

In one life, they're actors on a procedural crime dramedy. It's the highest rated show on the network right now. He plays the straight-laced, dry witted detective, she plays his free spirited yet brilliant psychic consultant. Kind of the exact opposite of who they are in real life. In real life, she's way more down to earth and spends a lot of time being a grown up while he has his head permanently in the clouds and spends a lot of time doing insanely wacky sitcom-ish things. People love this apparently. Their characters have had a will they/won't they thing going on for about three seasons now.

Fans of the show are convinced that the two stars are secretly dating because of behind the scenes pictures, twitter flirtations, and they way they look at each other in interviews. Some of them have written startlingly in depth essays about the body language between the two at red carpet events. They went to the Emmys together one year and presented an award and it was gifed from every angle. Someone photoshopped flower crowns on their heads in one picture on tumblr. Fans have a ship name for them. _Lanchester_. Dean thinks this is the most horrible thing he has ever heard. Laurel thinks it's hilarious. Their co-star, Tommy, refuses to call them anything else whenever they're together. There's even fanfiction about them out there on the internet. Not their characters. Them. RPF. Dean thinks this is fucking fantastic (''and also, informative''). Laurel thinks it's a little intrusive but creative.

Let's be honest: The fans are not wrong.

When they do officially come out as a couple, before their characters even get together, they break both Twitter and Tumblr.

.

.

.

**(22)**

_you were a kindness_   
_when i was a stranger_

Laurel decides to become a teacher instead of a lawyer.

She moves out of Starling City and gets a job at a high school in Michigan. Kevin Tran is her best student.

When he gets pulled into the supernatural world, she does too.

Technically, she could leave. She is not a prophet of God. She has no destiny. She does not have to be here. She is told that many times. Kevin tells her in the beginning, Sam tells while he's stitching her arm up, and Dean tells her many times, most notably after they get back from Purgatory and he begs her to stay away and have a nice, safe normal life. She doesn't listen.

She should have.

Instead of leaving, instead of going back to her normal, safe life, she promises Kevin's mother that she'll always be there to look out for him, and she seals her fate.

She and Dean spend far too long dancing around each other, flirting, touching, and there are so many close calls. While they were alone together in Purgatory, trapped in darkness, with only each other, loneliness clouding their judgment. During the trials, while Sam was sick, when Dean paced and ranted to her and she just wrapped her arms around him and didn't let go. After Castiel, brainwashed, beat Dean to a bloody pulp and Laurel saved his life. Finally, shortly after Charlie leaves for Oz with Dorothy, and after Dean has told her about Zeke, she kisses him.

They could die any day. They could die any second. She doesn't want to waste time.

A couple months later, when Ezekiel (not Ezekiel, as they will learn, his name is Gadreel) goes after Kevin Tran, Laurel shoves him out of the way.

Dean watches his brother's hands kill the woman he loves.

A few months later, he follows her into death.

This is not a happy life.

.

.

.

**(23)**

_i have saved all my ribbons for thee_

Dean and Laurel meet, they fall in love, they get married, and they have a baby boy.

He is an ex-hunter who has found a home and a family. He works mostly in the command center for the Birds of Prey organization. Occasionally, he does field work. Extraction and such. She is an ex-lawyer who wears leather, a wig and a mask at night. She is almost always in the field.

One night, during a rare occasion where Dean is needed in the field to extract Helena from a potentially dangerous undercover operation, something goes wrong.

He wakes up in the hospital three days later.

Laurel is at home when she gets the call. She has spent every second at Dean's bedside, but today her father and Sam forced her to go home, eat something, shower and spend some time with her son. It figures he would wake up when she wasn't there. Turns out, it was probably for the best.

When she bursts into Dean's hospital room, after ignoring Sam and Sara's yelped protests, Dean is sitting up in the hospital bed. He doesn't look like himself. There's something oddly cheerful about him. Something...child-like. Something unbroken. He looks weightless. Her husband has never been weightless. Whatever it is, it makes her stop in her tracks. When he sees her standing there, breathless in the doorway, his eyes light up. ''Hi!'' He greets her, and waves.

She takes a step back. That's not Dean.

He grins at her and says, cheerfully, ''Do I know you?''

.

.

.

**(24)**

_i see the man is mad with love_

In one terrifying, bitter, sad world, Dean is branded with the Mark of Cain.

And Laurel is his Colette.

Make of this what you will.

Maybe this means nothing. Maybe she tries to be there for him. Maybe she tries to pick up the shattered pieces as he spirals, as the Mark begins to control him like the alcohol used to control him. Maybe she can't save him. Maybe, one night, in a fit of uncontrollable rage, when he wants to stop but he can't stop, he snaps and, without even realizing what he's doing, his fingers wrap around her neck and he squeezes.

Now, maybe she is strong enough to fight him off long enough to get away. The question is: would she? The man she loves is standing in front of her, in dire need of help, and he's dangerous, yes, but she's stubborn.

Would she leave him?

Then again, maybe she's not strong enough to fight him off. Maybe she tries, fingernails scratching at his wrists and his eyes, gasping and gagging, trying to breathe, trying to get through to _Dean: the Man_ instead of _Dean: the New Cain_. And maybe she fails.

Maybe Dean is able to fight it, swimming against the tide, just long enough to realize what he's doing and stop. Maybe he is able to stop, just long enough to tell her to run. Or maybe he's not.

Maybe she _can_ save him. Maybe the thing that saves them all, just this once, this one time, is the simple power of human love. Maybe her presence beside him, her loyalty and her love, is enough to stabilize him. Maybe she reverses the effects of the Mark just by being with him. Maybe she is an antidote.

Maybe, one night, while he is drinking instead of sleeping, pacing and tearing out his hair with shaking hands because he feels like there are bugs crawling under his skin, she drifts out into the library and watches him. He doesn't see her. He is far too busy trying to ignore the erratic pounding of his heart, the harshness of his breaths, and the way his entire body feels electrified with rage. She only approaches him when he collapses on the ground, leaning against the wall, staring down at his trembling hands with a clenched jaw.

She crouches down in front of him and closes her hands around his shaking hands. She is wearing white; this flowing, white silk nightgown and her hair is curled. She looks so angelic, so perfect, that even the sight of her helps ease the persistent ache in his chest. Maybe, when she brings her hand to his face and he leans into her touch like he's starved, it will be enough to heal him. 

One of these things happens in this world.

Choose your own adventure.

.

.

.

**(25)**

_if you fall asleep down by the water_   
_baby, i'll carry you all the way home_

There's a world out there where Dean and Laurel are in love.

Maybe things aren't always happy, maybe life is still rough for them, maybe they're still broken down and battle weary, but they're together, and they're in love.

And that's enough.

.

.

.

**(and one they did)**

_you want a better story._   
_who wouldn't?_

In this world, Dean Winchester is a hunter. Laurel Lance is a lawyer. He was born in Lawrence, Kansas, but his home is the road and a car and his brother. She was born in Starling City and she never leaves, even though sometimes she itches to run.

He saves the world she lives in more than once. She wins cases.

One day, he will die. It will be bloody and final and he will be too young. One day, she will become a superhero. It will not be the life she planned, but she will be damn good at it.

Their paths cross once, maybe twice. Maybe their shoulders brush as they pass each other on the street when Dean and Sam stop in Starling City for coffee on their way to a case. He'll look back, but he'll only catch a head of dark hair walking away from him. She'll pause and turn her head, but he'll be crossing the street.

They will never meet.

There is an ache that never goes away, in their hearts, in their heads, in their guts; there's a chasm inside that they can't fill. Neither of them will ever realize what it is that they're missing, just that they miss _something._

Happiness is not allowed here.

All these lives, all these ways to fall in love, and this is the world they are stuck in.

.

.

.

_\- shut up._   
_i'm getting to it._

.

.

.

**end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Main title from the song ''Where Did You Sleep Last Night?'' originally by Lead Belly, although I prefer the Nirvana version.
> 
> Poetry excerpts at the beginning and end from the poem ''Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out'' by Richard Siken.
> 
> but i do know that i love you  
> and i know that if you love me too  
> what a wonderful world this would be  
> \- from the song ''(What a) Wonderful World'' by Sam Cooke
> 
> you're a ghost  
> \- from the song ''Ghost'' by Sir Sly
> 
> the woods are lovely, dark and deep  
> and i have miles to go before i sleep  
> \- from the poem ''Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening'' by Robert Frost
> 
> tell me how ugly i am  
> but that you'll always love me  
> \- from the song ''Love the Way You Lie Part II'' by Rihanna ft. Eminem
> 
> tell me there's some hope for me  
> i don't wanna be lonely  
> for the rest of my days on the earth  
> \- from the song ''Perfect Situation'' by Weezer
> 
> if it makes you happy  
> \- from the song of the same name by Sheryl Crow
> 
> i want you to know you're the best part of me  
> \- from the song ''Best Part of Me'' by St. Leonards
> 
> put on the suit. let's go a few rounds  
> \- a quote from The Avengers (2012), said by Steve Rogers to Tony Stark
> 
> i heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?  
> \- from the song ''Video Games'' by Lana Del Rey
> 
> you can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness  
> \- from the song ''Somebody That I Used to Know'' by Goyte
> 
> i see nothing worse than to sail this world without you  
> \- from the song ''We Are Stars'' by The Pierces
> 
> all that is beautiful  
> but born to die  
> \- from a poem by Dylan Thomas (I can't seem to find the name of the poem)
> 
> i'm the blade  
> you're the knife  
> \- from the song ''Breathing Underwater'' by Metric
> 
> i grow old and i forget your name  
> \- from the poem ''Mad Girl's Love Song'' by Sylvia Plath
> 
> until you're here  
> i'm only wasting time  
> \- from the song ''Hurricane'' by Midnight Cinema
> 
> love me like fireworks  
> \- from the song ''Catch My Disease'' by Ben Lee
> 
> keep the nightmares out  
> give me mouth to mouth  
> \- from the song ''Home'' by Daughter
> 
> cosy in the rocket  
> \- from the song of the same name by Psapp (aka the old Grey's Anatomy theme song)
> 
> i want you to tell me all the ways you've been unkind  
> \- from the poem ''Asking Too Much'' by Andrea Gibson
> 
> she broke your throne, and she cut your hair  
> and from your lips she drew the hallelujah  
> \- from the song ''Hallelujah'' by Leonard Cohen
> 
> ready for those flashing lights  
> \- from the song ''Paparazzi'' by Lady Gaga
> 
> you were a kindness  
> when i was a stranger  
> \- from the song ''You Were a Kindness'' by The National
> 
> i have saved all my ribbons for me  
> \- from the song ''Bird on a Wire'' by Leonard Cohen
> 
> i see the man is mad with love  
> \- i can't remember where this is from. it's something that has stuck with me for years. i think it's from a poem by Dylan Thomas
> 
> if you fall asleep down by the water  
> baby, i'll carry you all the way home  
> \- from the song ''Down by the Water'' by The Drums
> 
> left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.  
> you want a better story. who wouldn't?  
> \- from the poem ''Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out'' by Richard Siken


	18. Underdogs Wednesdays #17: Fic Preview and Author's Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys.
> 
> So sorry to be doing this again, but I've got some bad news. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put this collection on hiatus until September. I know, I know, but I'm going to be going on summer vacation at the end of the month and I'll be gone for two months. Not only will I be on vacation, but I will have little to no internet connection for two months. (EEK!) I was really hoping I would be able to get a few more Underdogs Wednesdays up before I left but real life has kind of taken over. This month is mostly going to be about cleaning, trying to figure out how to pack for two months away and just generally getting ready to leave.
> 
> I cannot apologize enough for this. I was really hoping that I would be able to get something out before I left, but it doesn't seem to be happening. I also have to apologize for the lack of updates on You Are a Hurricane. I genuinely thought I would be able to get another chapter up before I left, but I haven't had a huge amount of time to write these past couple months.
> 
> With that said, I didn't want to leave you guys with nothing...but all I have is this short excerpt from a full length fic (that might not even be completed, don't hold me to this, I have no idea what this summer holds for me) that could sort of work as a stand alone mini fic. ...Albeit a very, very sad stand alone mini fic.
> 
> Information/Warnings for this mini fic/fic excerpt: Takes place post Arrow season two and post SPN season nine. Tommy lives. Warnings for somewhat violent imagery, mentions of alcoholism, and also, um, you know, major character death.

**/xvii/**

.

.

.

 

As she steps out of her father's hospital room into the hallway, Laurel blinks as her eyes adjust to the sudden onslaught of bright lights. She doesn't know what to expect from his phone call. Sam rarely calls her these days, so if he's calling her now... She's not sure how this could be a good thing. There's a part of her that doesn't even want to pick up. If she picks up, she doesn't have to hear whatever bad news Sam is about to give her. Unless it's Dean and he's just using Sam's phone because his was crushed by a monster. Not like it would be the first time.

Yeah.

Yeah, that's probably what's happening.

''Hello?''

_''Laurel.''_

It's bad.

''Sam.''

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, but she can hear his harsh, ragged breathing and that says more than you know. When he does eventually speak up again, his voice is wrecked. Like someone has taken his entire world and shattered it. '' _Laurel_.'' It's just a half sob of her name, nothing more, but it says everything.

Her vision blurs. There's a deafening roar in her ears and she can't catch her breath. ''No.'' Everything feels sideways all of a sudden. Her legs feel like jelly, she feels dizzy and she thinks she might throw up. Or pass out. Possibly both. ''No.'' She reaches out blindly for something to hold onto, placing a hand flat against the wall. '' _Don't_. He's - _No_. No, no, no, he's fine. He's fine. He's always fine. He always comes home to me.'' There is no answer. ''Sam, tell me he's coming home to me.''

Sam sucks in a breath. He sounds winded when he speaks. '' _I'm sorry_ ,'' it comes out in a croak. _''I'm so sorry._ ''

''No.'' She shakes her head. ''No, please, no.''

'' _I...tried. But I... I couldn't_.'' Then he splinters and she's left listening to him sob.

She can't breathe. None of the air is reaching her lungs and her stomach is churning. She doubles over, gasping for breath, one hand on the wall. ''No.'' It's an agonized moan this time. She can't keep herself upright. Her already unsteady legs go weak beneath her and she collapses, sinking to her knees, trying to breathe. There is something in her throat. Something is crawling and scratching its way up. ''This isn't happening,'' she chokes out. ''This can't be happening. ...How - '' her voice cracks. ''How did it happen?''

Sam doesn't answer her.

She's not sure she even wants to know.

_This was always how it was gonna end, Laur_ , she hears Dean's voice say in some sort of grief or shock induced auditory hallucination. It's like he's right next to her, whispering in her ear. _We both knew that._

The tears don't come slow. There is nothing gradual about her breakdown. She breaks down completely, whimpers turning into guttural, howl-like sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks. She is still on the ground, shattered, sobbing, and shaking, when Oliver and Tommy find her.

.

.

.

Tommy refuses to let her go to Kansas alone.

It's probably for the best. Laurel is incoherent and can barely stand. There's no way she could make it through the flight by herself. Oliver has tickets for the red eye flight waiting for them by the time they reach the airport, he'll have a rental car waiting for them by the time the plane touches down, and he promises to stay with her father until her mother gets there. Tommy handles everything at the airport. He gets them checked in and through security without a hassle, and he doesn't let go of her hand. They're good boys.

It's not an extremely long plane ride, but it feels like it takes forever. Tommy tries to coax her into sleeping but she can't. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees something bloody, whether it's Dean's ravaged body or the memory of her father coughing up blood and telling her that he can't breathe. It's the worst three hours of her life.

She spends the time thinking of all the ways it could have happened.

Was he all clawed up? What about his heart? Was it damaged? Was he shot? Stabbed? Was his head bashed in? Does he still have his heart? Or did something rip it out of him? Does he have everything else? Is he in pieces? How much of him is left?

Was it quick? Or was it slow, drawn out and long? If it was slow, how much did it hurt? Did the pain pass quickly, leaving a numb, floating kind of feeling? Or was it excruciating until the very last second?

Did he choke on his blood? Did he choke on her name? Was he alone? Did he know what was happening? Did he see it coming? What were his last words? Were they about her? Sam? Castiel? What did he see? Right at the end, right before he went, what did he see? Did he see his mom? Was she there? Did she come and get him? Did that make it better? Is he in heaven? Was he able to get in? Is he at peace?

Was he scared?

His _heart._

What about his heart?

She pictures it in her head. Him dying. She sees it again and again, in all different ways. She tries to think about what his last words could have been. She hears the words in her head. She hears his voice. And then she realizes, of course, that she will never hear his voice again.

By the time they're on the ground, the sun has risen and she just wants to see him, whether it's a pretty sight or not.

From the airport, it's about an hour long drive to Lebanon, where the bunker is located, which gives her more time to think.

In the car, she thinks about all of the ways this could be a false alarm. Maybe he was just severely injured. Maybe Cas healed him. Maybe Sam did something stupid and brought him back. Maybe this is all just a really cruel prank.

Maybe, when she walks in the door, he'll be standing there, healthy and alive, and waiting for her. He'll kiss her hello and apologize for scaring her. ''It was close,'' he'll say, ''but I'm here, pretty bird.'' She'll be too happy to be mad at him for putting her through this and she'll be so glad to see him, so glad that he's alive, that she won't want to stop touching him, just to make sure he's there.

And they'll live happily ever after and he'll come home to her _always_ and he won't be dead.

He won't be dead.

.

.

.

She had slapped him across the face when he showed her the angry red Mark on his arm and explained to her what it meant. They had fought over empty wine and whiskey bottles, both less than sober, eyes red and raw. He had been determined and desolate. She had been angry and scared.

''You're going to die!'' She had screamed at him, right after she threw a glass at his head, because he didn't seem to understand how every word that came out of his mouth sounded like a goodbye. ''You're going to die and I'm going to watch!'' She had been hysterical that night. ''Why?'' She asked. ''Why do you keep doing this? Why do you want to die so badly?''

His voice had been remarkably calm, albeit hoarse and unusually quiet, when he responded, ''You ever think maybe you would be better off? You ever think maybe everyone would be better off? I'm _poison_ , Laurel. What have I ever done for you that's _good_?''

She had burst into these very undignified sobs at that, hands coming up to cover her mouth, because it was one of the scariest things she had ever heard him say. It was terrifying that he thought that about himself, that life and the people around him had both knowingly and unknowingly beaten it into him that he was better off dead, that he was always going to be the bad guy, that every choice he made was the wrong one and his pain didn't matter as much as Sam's or Castiel's or hers. ''What have you ever done for me?'' She asked incredulously. ''You _love_ me, Dean. Why don't you ever think that's enough? Why can't that be enough?''

He had looked regretful, not because he didn't mean it but because he had made her cry. ''Laur...''

She crossed the room to kiss him. She stood on her tiptoes and took his face in both of her hands, pulling him down so she could kiss his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his forehead. ''We're not,'' she told him. ''We're not better off without you. We're not. You have no idea, Dean. You have no idea how dark this world would be without you in it. You have no idea how dark _my_ world would be.''

He wound up burying his face in her hair, not crying but close to it, breathing shallowly and whispering apologies into her hair while she held him.

But he never took it back.

He never took back the fact that he legitimately believed the world would be better off without him.

.

.

.

Sam is drunk when he opens the door to the bunker to let them in. He's wobbly on his feet, his eyes are bloodshot, and he smells like whiskey. He looks like a ghost. ''Laurel,'' he slurs out a greeting and gives her a shaky smile. He mumbles out her name again, ''Laurel'' and then looks behind him, waiting for Dean to come and greet her.

Dean doesn't come.

''I... I don't...'' Sam looks helpless. She has never seen him look so helpless before. ''I don't know what to do.''

Laurel chokes back a sob and closes the small but big distance between them, wrapping her arms around him.

Sam Winchester is older than her, tougher than her, significantly larger, he has been through hell (both literally and figuratively) and the amount of loss he has suffered is insurmountable. He is not a little boy. He has never been a little boy. Not to her. Dean always saw him as his baby brother, his kid, someone who needed to be protected at all costs, even if it meant giving his life so Sam could live. Laurel always saw a grown, capable man. She has never faulted Dean for his view of Sam because to her, Sara is and always will be the giggling little girl with scraped knees and wild hair, chasing butterflies in the summer sunset. It's just that she's never seen Sam like that. She's never seen him the way Dean does.

Until now.

She thinks she gets it now. There's a boy in her arms, lost and shaking, and he's in pieces, and he's not okay and he's not going to be okay.

Laurel knows what it feels like to be an older sibling who loses a younger sibling.

Being an older sibling is like having a piece of your heart and your soul walk around outside of your body, and when you lose them, the entire world goes with them. You don't just lose the woman who got on the boat or the man in the hospital bed; you lose the girl who chased butterflies and the boy you rode to the ER on your handlebars. There's zero chance of ever being whole again when you're an older sibling who loses a younger one because you have failed the most important job you have ever been given, and they have taken your heart, your whole heart, with them; to the bottom of the ocean where she fell, to the church where he gave up.

A younger sibling who loses an older sibling, though.

Laurel has no idea what that's like.

Is it like losing your strength? Is every bit of courage stripped away from you? Do you die with them? Or is it like losing the one thing keeping you here on the ground and without them you're left struggling to find solid ground before you float away? Is it like being taken off life support? Can you breathe without them?

Do you _want_ to?

Sam is a heavy weight in her arms. He melts into her like he's a child seeking comfort from his mother and, just this once, Laurel decides she can be that for him. ''I know,'' she whispers, carding her fingers through his hair. ''I know, sweetie, I don't either. But I'm here, okay? I'm here.''

Sam exhales shakily.

She holds him tighter.

She thinks this is what Dean would've wanted.

.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank you for all the support this collection has gotten. Thank you all for commenting, leaving kudos, bookmarking this fic, or even just giving it a chance and clicking on this. The support has been amazing and I'm grateful for every one of you. You guys are the best! *kisses all your faces*
> 
> I will be back in September, and I hope to see all of you then!
> 
> \- Becks Rylynn

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the angst and the feels, although I'm not sorry for the poetry. I'm never sorry for the poetry.
> 
> I do also have to apologize for the shortness of this first one. When I wrote this a couple weeks ago, I was still trying to find my footing with this pairing and with writing anything meta-like. The second one is fic, I promise.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own none of the characters nor any of the poetry or music in this collection.


End file.
